A Father's Curse
by yellowrose
Summary: Tim McGee's father has no use for his son or NCIS, but things change when he becomes a killer's target. Will Tim be willing to put his own life on the line for his estranged father?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything having to do with the characters or the television show, NCIS. **

A/N: Just something I felt like writing. Hope anyone who choose to read my story will enjoy it.

**A FATHER'S CURSE**

**CHAPTER ONE**

NCIS agent Timothy McGee felt good. This was going to be a great week, he could just feel it. On Friday, he'd received his annual performance review and had been delighted to receive one of the best of his career. Gibbs did not give out praise lightly and Tim knew he'd earned it. He'd also received a raise as a result of his excellent performance and today, he'd gotten a call from his publisher telling him his second Deep Six book would be published next month. All was right with the world.

There was spring in Tim's step as he made his way to his desk humming softly beneath his breath. He knew that in this business, days like this could be far and few between, but until the next heartless murder or terrorist plot required their attention, he was going to enjoy it.

"Well, McMerrySunshine, you certainly seem annoyingly cheerful today. I don't think it's legal to look that happy on a Monday morning."

Tim looked up to see his partner, Tony DiNozzo, slouching his way across the bullpen towards his own desk. He looked irritable and tired.

"I am happy." Tim leaned back in his chair and grinned. "I had a great weekend. Gibbs gave me a decent performance review, my next book comes out next month, and right now, all I have to worry about is updating these case files."

Tony simply grunted as he collapsed into his chair and began rubbing his brow. His other hand clutched a large cup of coffee.

"Are you hung-up, Tony?"

Tony opened one eye and glared at Ziva. She stood watching at him, a smug smile firmly in place.

"That's hung _over, _Ziva and no, I am not. I've had a stomach bug all weekend, and I feel like crap."

Ziva merely lifted a skeptical eyebrow and sauntered back to her own desk and turned to her computer.

Tim grinned more widely as he turned to his own pile of work. Yes, all was right with the world.

The morning dragged into the afternoon. No dead petty officers popped up; no terrorist bomb plots or drug deals gone bad. It was a nice change and gave Tim and his team time to catch up on the ever dreaded paperwork.

Tim sighed and stretched, his back beginning to ache from sitting so long. He glanced at his watch. Only a couple more hours before it was time to go home. He stared forlornly at his empty coffee cup, debating whether or not it was worth it to get a refill.

His reverie was broken by the distinctive ding of the elevator's arrival. Mildly curious, he glanced over to see who had arrived. Director Vance exited, deep in conversation with SecNav Jarvis. Nothing new there, but as the third individual stepped out of the elevator car, Tim froze, his stomach clenching in an all too familiar way.

The man was tall, with a stern, no-nonsense expression. He wore the uniform of a navy admiral. He paused for a moment just outside the elevator and swept his gaze across the crowded room. For the briefest of moments, his eyes locked on Tim's before continuing on, giving no sign of recognition. He turned abruptly and followed the other two men up the stairs to Vance's office.

Tim couldn't breathe. He suddenly felt ill and struggled to his feet.

"Tim?" Tim glanced over to see Tony staring at him, his brows knitted in confusion. "You okay?"

"Bathroom," Tim muttered as he stumbled away, never looking back.

Once within the cool confines of the tiled bathroom, Tim took several long quavering breaths. What on earth was his _father_ doing here? Tim had not seen the Admiral, as he often referred to his father, in over seven years. In fact, he'd only spoken to him once, last year, at his grandmother's insistence and that brief exchange really hadn't changed anything.

Tim splashed some water on his face, angry at himself for his reaction. He was no longer the timid, insecure kid that had left home for college. Heck, he wasn't even the nervous, insecure probie of eight years ago. He had grown into a competent, well-respected agent. Tim stared at himself for a moment in the mirror. Then why had the mere sight of his father sent him running in a panic to the men's room?

With a growl, Tim ripped a section of paper toweling off the roll and swiped it across his face before jamming it into the trash. He could not allow his father to intimidate him. Not anymore. The Admiral had never struck him, Tim's mother would never have stood for that, but he was a master of psychological manipulation. And, he was used to getting his way.

Tim gave a sour smile as he turned to leave remembering their last few encounters. When Tim announced he had no intention in following the McGee tradition of attending the Naval Academy and in fact, wanted to join NCIS after college, the Admiral had made sure Tim suffered for his defiance. He'd spent all of Tim's senior year and throughout college picking away at his son's self-confidence, making him doubt his own abilities and decisions until Tim became an insecure, neurotic mess. Still, he was enough of his father's son to fight for what he wanted. When he was accepted into NCIS, his father had essentially cut him out of his life. Tim told people it didn't matter, but the fact was, it had hurt more deeply than he would ever admit.

The door swung open just as Tim reached for it. Tony peered at him.

"You okay, McGee? You looked a little pale out there."

Tim shrugged and shook his head. "I'm fine, Tony. Just something I ate."

Tony nodded sympathetically. He was still looking a little peaked himself. "Boss wants us. You better get a move on."

Wordlessly, Tim followed Tony back to the bullpen where Gibbs and Ziva stood studying a piece of paper in Gibbs' hand.

"Nice of you to join us, Tim." Gibbs never took his eyes from the paper, but Tim felt the sting of a mild rebuke and his face warmed. He'd obviously been gone longer than he'd thought.

"Sorry, Boss."

Gibbs said nothing further and McGee silently slid into his seat to face his computer, ready for anything Gibbs might ask of him.

"What do we know about the Antares Weapons System?"

McGee blinked and turned to look at Gibbs who was now staring directly at him. Tim had actually heard of the system. It was top secret, but in his various excursions into classified databases he'd come across a few references. He knew better than to go any further than a cursory look.

He cleared his throat. "It's a top secret spy system using satellites. That's about all I know."

Gibbs nodded. "I'm surprised you know that much. But did you know your father, Admiral McGee, is involved in its development?"

Tim's mouth fell open in confusion. "Uh, no, Boss, I didn't. Is…is that important?"

He noticed Tony and Ziva moving in closer, their faces mirroring his.

"Your father and the SecNav are upstairs with Director Vance right now. Apparently someone doesn't want this system developed and has made an attempt on your father's life."

McGee was stunned. Granted, more than once he'd thought of killing his father but to have someone actually try was something else all together. He wasn't sure how to feel.

"What happened, Boss?" Tony stepped forward.

"Last night, Admiral McGee was entering the parking garage of the research facility in Bethesda. Someone tried to shoot him. However, a security guard was nearby and scared him off. The assailant got away." He now handed McGee the piece of paper. "This is the license plate number and description of the car. I expect it's stolen, but you never know."

"I'll get right on it, Boss."

Gibbs turned to Ziva and Tony. "For the time being, you two are being assigned to protection detail. The admiral isn't happy about it, but the SecNav insisted."

"You're damn right I'm not happy about it."

McGee's mouth went dry, his fingers frozen above his keyboard. It had been over a year since he'd heard that voice. Slowly he turned and met his father's scornful gaze as he approached the team.

"Vance, did you have to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find this bunch? Couldn't be one of your good teams if my son is on it."

McGee's face burned. He dropped his gaze and said nothing.

"Admiral McGee," returned Vance in a cold voice, "Your son is indeed one of our top agents. He will not be assigned to protection detail for obvious reasons, but will certainly be involved in finding out who your assailant was."

"If he's one of your top agents, then this is a bigger sorry ass organization than I'd thought."

"Well, sir," Vance's voice became several degrees colder, "This 'sorry ass' organization as you so quaintly put it, is going to save yours. So I suggest you treat my agents, and I mean _all_ my agents with respect."

Admiral McGee merely grunted and turned his gaze to Gibbs. "So Special Agent Gibbs, these are the two agents assigned to me?"

"Yes, sir." Gibbs met the admiral's steely gaze with one of his own. "Two of the agency's best. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and Special Agent Ziva David."

Admiral McGee's eyes narrowed briefly when he heard Ziva's name. "David? Any relation to the late Mossad director?"

Ziva didn't flinch. "Yes, sir. He was my father."

The admiral grunted once more but said nothing. A cold bead of sweat trickled down Tim's back. He just wished they would all leave. It was obvious nothing had changed. His father was just as bitter as ever over the fact Tim had refused to go to the Naval Academy. His father's mere presence was suffocating. Tim just stared sightlessly at his keyboard.

A moment later, Tim became aware of the others moving away. He lifted his eyes to follow the admiral striding towards the elevator as Tony and Ziva hurried to catch up. He thanked god he wasn't them. Not that his father would ever have allowed someone as incompetent and cowardly as his own son help protect him. Tim sighed and tried to refocus on his computer.

"Tim."

Startled, McGee's head snapped up to see Gibbs studying him. "Yes, Boss?"

"No offense, but your father is an idiot. I suggest you ignore everything he says." Gibbs then turned and followed Director Vance up the stairs towards MTAC.

McGee felt his shoulders relax slightly, then with a deep sigh, he returned to his work.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

McGee felt lonely in the bullpen knowing Ziva and Tony were off on protection detail. Sure, he was used to working alone, but this time, he felt an odd sense of abandonment.

_You're just being stupid, McGee._

He looked up from his computer at the shrill tone of his phone. "Special Agent McGee." He listened for a moment, nodded and smiled slightly. He jotted down a few notes as he replaced the receiver. The Metro police had located the shooter's car. Of course it had been reported as stolen shortly before the attack on the admiral, but now they could search it and hope the guy had been sloppy. Right now, they had precious little to go on.

He picked up his paper and hurried down the Abby's lab.

"Hey McGee," she smiled, looking up from her computer. "Whatcha got?"

"The Metro police found the shooter's car. They're sending it over. Just giving you a heads up so we can start on it as soon as it arrives in the evidence garage."

Abby grinned wider and gave him a salute. "That's great McGee! I'm ready whenever it gets here."

"Have you had any luck with the bullet Metro found at the scene?"

Abby shrugged. "It's a 32 caliber, but that's about all I can say about it until we find a gun to go with it."

Tim nodded and turned to leave.

"Um, Tim?"

He stopped and looked back. "Yeah?"

Abby bit her lip and hesitated. "You okay? I mean, this is your dad and all, and maybe you don't get along so well, but he is your dad and somebody tried to kill him…." She trailed off, frowning unhappily. "And, well, I heard about what he said to you."

Tim averted his gaze and sighed deeply. "I'm fine, Abby. He's, well, he's just being the admiral. I'm used to it. And frankly, it would take more than one lone gunman to take down my father, believe me." He gave her a weak smile, then turned and disappeared into the elevator. Abby stared after him a moment longer, then returned to her own work.

The car arrived a couple of hours later. Tim joined Abby dusting every surface for fingerprints while she dug under seats and searched the trunk. The car had been wiped clean except for one partial on the mirror adjustment button.

Abby smiled in triumph as she studied the print. "Don't worry, McGee, this little print may be the key to everything."

Tim didn't feel quite so certain. "Let's hope so. We don't have anything else to go on right now."

He returned to his desk to continue searching through his father's phone files looking for anything that might indicate who the stalker was. So far, they had been routine calls and Tim didn't expect to find anything useful. Why should he? His father might even know who tried to kill him, but Tim suspected the last people he would tell would be NCIS. The admiral just couldn't bear the thought that the organization that stole his son from him might actually prove effective. It would especially gall him if Tim were the one to track down the assailant. But it would be even worse if he failed. Tim tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. _Focus, Tim!_

"Talk to me, McGee."

Tim was jolted from his reverie by the arrival of Gibbs. He blinked trying to bring his attention back to the problem. He leapt to his feet nearly knocking over his chair.

"Oh, Boss, um, yeah. Hold on." He scrambled through the papers on his desk while Gibbs watched impassively. Tim stumbled as he hurried over. His face burned. It was like being a green probie again.

"McGee?"

"Right, okay, well, Metro police found the shooter's car. Abby and I went over it with a fine tooth comb. It was wiped clean, but we did find a partial on the control for the side window. Abby's running it now. Could simply be the owner's but maybe we'll get lucky. Um, I've been going through my father's phone records for the past month and so far nothing out of the ordinary. Most business related, but I'm making a list of everyone he talked to so we can ask him about them." He ran his eyes down his list.

"Oh, and Abby checked out the bullet but there was nothing remarkable about it. Thirty-two caliber but that's it. We'll need to match it to the shooter's gun."

Gibbs nodded. "Good work. Let me know if Abby gets a match on that print."

"Right Boss."

"Oh, give me the list of names and I'll go talk to the admiral about them." Gibbs paused and eyed McGee. "Unless you want to."

McGee's head shot up as he took an involuntary step backwards. Inwardly, he cursed himself for acting like a frightened kid. He took a deep breath. "Probably be better if you did it. I'm not sure he'd give me a straight answer."

Gibbs said nothing for a long moment. "You're going to have to face him eventually, Tim. You can't let him have this kind of control over you. You're a grown man and a damn good agent. Never forget that. Don't let him make you doubt yourself or your abilities."

Rubbing the back of his neck, McGee gave his boss a rueful smile. "I'm afraid it's a little late for that."

xxxxxx

Tony DiNozzo sat outside the admiral's office at the Pentagon staring off into space. He blinked as Ziva strode up, two cups of coffee in her hands.

"Anything exciting happen while I was gone?" She handed Tony a cup as she sipped her own, settling into the seat beside him.

Tony gave a snort. "Besides him chewing me out for following him to the bathroom? And for following him back here. And for simply existing? Hmm. No. Not a thing." He shook his head. "I never had any idea how rough McGee must have had it growing up with this guy. I mean, my dad was a royal pain in the butt and disappointed me more times than I can count, but I'll take Senior any day over this asshole."

Ziva smirked. She'd heard so many stories concerning Senior's benign neglect that it amused her that Tony thought somebody might actually had had a more miserable childhood than his own. Then she sighed. "I agree with you, Tony. I had my differences with my own father and even though I know he used me, I never doubted he loved me. I am not so sure about Admiral McGee. The way he treats Tim is dispicable."

"Yeah. But it sure explains a lot about McGeek. You shoulda seen him, Ziva, as a probie I mean. Man, he was so insecure and green, but he was smart and never gave up. I can't figure out why his old man can't see the difference since he joined NCIS."

"Hmmph. It is very clear to me that the admiral does not think much of NCIS period."

"You're right about that, Ziva."

The two agents looked up to see Gibbs striding towards them. They both scrambled to their feet.

"Anything new, Boss?" Tony set his coffee cup down, ready for action.

Gibbs shook his head. "Not much. Metro found the car. McGee and Abby scoured it and only came up with a single partial. Abby's running it now." He nodded to the closed office door. "I assume the admiral is in?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. He's in. We tried to convince him to allow us to stay in the office but like McGee once told me, the admiral does what he wants to do no matter what anyone else says. So, we're stuck out here." He paused. "No loss, really. I've only been around the guy a little while and I'm ready to shoot him myself. I'm sick of him badmouthing McGee and the agency."

Gibbs shared his look of disgust. Then stepped forward, knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.

An officer at a reception desk stood up, startled. "Sir…"

Gibbs flashed his badge and ID. "Special Agent Gibbs. I need to speak with the admiral."

"Sir, the admiral is very busy! Sir! Wait! You can't go in there!"

Gibbs ignored the flustered assistant and pushed open the door to the inner office. Admiral McGee's head snapped up, his eyes blazing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Gibbs? I gave my assistant strict orders that I wasn't to be disturbed. It had better be something damned important. You find out who tried to shoot me?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No, sir. We're making some progress, but I need to ask you a few questions. I knew if I called first, you wouldn't see me. So, here I am. Should only take a minute."

The admiral's jaw worked furiously as if he couldn't quite figure out how to respond short of exploding. But finally, he took a deep breath. "Fine." He spat the word out as if it had a foul taste. "What do you want?"

Gibbs handed him a print out of all the names and phone calls Tim had provided him. "I need you to look through this and see if there are any names that you think may have some connection to your attack. I know you're involved in a top secret project and these are likely linked to that, but I need to know if you think any of these people might have some grudge against you or the project."

Reluctantly, the admiral took the paper and studied it, his scowl deepened. "These are my private calls from my secure Pentagon line. How the hell did you get these?"

Gibbs tilted his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your son is very good at what he does."

The admiral spat out another word. Gibbs' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Your son deserves respect, sir. He is very talented and a highly capable agent."

The admiral rolled his eyes. "I am not going to discuss my son with you, Agent Gibbs. I don't give a damn about what you think of him and his so-called abilities. In fact, I am not even going to argue about how you got this classified information, but I think perhaps it's time someone looked into how NCIS goes about its business. As for the names on this list, I will vouch for each and everyone one of them. They are all vital to project and none of them has any reason to want to stop it, much less kill me off." He tossed the sheaf of papers back to Gibbs and picked up his phone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have _important_ work to do."

Gibbs fought back a few choice words of his own before retrieving the papers and turning on his heel. He marched past the nervous looking assistant and back out to the hallway where Ziva and Tony waited.

"By the look on your face, I'm guessing the meeting wasn't as cordial as you would have hoped, huh, Boss?" Tony grinned as he leaned against the wall.

Gibbs glanced back at the closed door, his face rigid. "I don't get that guy. Especially when it comes to his own son. It's like he can't respect anything McGee has done. It's all I can do not to punch him in the face."

Ziva and Tony exchanged amused glances. It wasn't often Gibbs let someone get under his skin like this. Tony certainly understood. He'd had to restrain himself several times while in the admiral's presence.

Gibbs shook his head and sighed. "Okay, listen Morales and Carter from Monroe's team will relieve you at 2100 hours. Monroe's team is short some people, so we agreed to divide this protection detail."

"Lucky them," muttered Tony, glancing down at his watch. Two more hours. If he and Ziva were lucky, the relief team would arrive before the Admiral was ready to go home. The less time they had to spend in his physical presence, the happier he would be.

A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews. I watched the McGee and his father episode last night and for the most part enjoyed it. Thought they rather smoothed things over between them a little too easily though. Glad to see McGee actually does have a mother somewhere! Anyway, hope you enjoy the story as it goes along.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"I got a match, McGee!" McGee looked up to see Abby beaming at him as she merrily waved a piece of paper in his face. "Dr. Thomas Yancy. Late of the Lakeland Research Group."

Smiling his thanks, McGee took the paper and immediately started searching the databases. It didn't take long for McGee to find a substantial amount of information on Dr. Yancy. He was a nuclear physicist with degrees in bio and mechanical engineering. He had been employed by Lakeland Research Group, an innocuous sounding name for a very large defense research and development group. Deftly, McGee hacked into to Lakeland's files and learned that Yancy had been had been the originator of the Antares project and heavily involved in its development. Until recently. McGee frowned. Until the Navy became directly involved, which included Admiral McGee.

McGee tapped his chin thoughtfully. He couldn't find any definite information, but it appeared that as soon as the admiral came on board, Yancy was kicked off. Coincidence? McGee shook his head. Hardly. The two men must have butted heads and McGee had no doubt who would have come out on top. Yancy never stood a chance. But, was he the kind of person to seek revenge with a gun? McGee studied the ID photo from the man's personnel file. He was a thin, gray haired man, his pale blue eyes distant and cold. He had the look of someone who wouldn't take kindly to being booted from his own project.

McGee began making calls, trying to locate the doctor. No luck. He tried tracking the number his file indicated as a cell number, but had no luck with that either. Perhaps Yancy didn't have it with him. He certainly wasn't using it. The last call recorded had been two days previously. McGee glanced at his watch. It was almost ten p.m. He rubbed his burning eyes as he considered his options. He obviously needed to talk to Yancy's boss or co-workers at Lakeland but it was too late tonight. That left one other option. One he dreaded. He could go talk to his father.

He glanced around the quiet office. Tony and Ziva were supposed to get off duty at nine. He picked up the phone and dialed Tony's number.

"_Hey McGee, what's up?"_

Tim licked his dry lips. "Hey Tony. Do you know if my father is still at his office?"

"_Well, he was still there when we left. I heard him tell Morales he'd be probably there until at least ten. Why? Something up?"_

"I think I might have a lead. A researcher from the Lakeland Research Group left the Antares Project when my father took it over. I need to ask Dad if he thinks this guy might hold a grudge."

There was a long pause before Tony spoke again. _"You sure you want to do that, Tim?"_

No, he did not want to do that, but he couldn't hide from his father forever. He had to prove to the admiral that he had changed. He was not that frightened little boy anymore.

"It'll be okay, Tony. I can handle this."

"_You want me to come with you?"_

For a moment, Tim thought he might agree, but then sighed. "No thanks, Tony. It's probably better I go alone."

"_Okay, buddy. But you call me if you need me."_

"Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it."

Slowly, McGee hung up. He wiped his hands along his pants leg. He could do this. Really. He could. It was just his father for Pete's sake. He'd faced ruthless killers and crazed soldiers hopped up on drugs. He'd been shot at, blown up, and beaten. Surely talking to one admiral couldn't be worse than any of that.

"Of course it can," McGee muttered as he gathered together his things. Much worse. He took a deep breath, shouldered his backpack and headed out.

On his way, McGee made a call to agent Morales who wearily informed him that his father was now at home.

An hour later found McGee outside his father's D.C. condo. The admiral kept it for all those late nights he was forced to spend in the city so he didn't have to drive back into Virginia.

"You sure you wanna do this now?" asked Morales meeting him at the door. "The admiral isn't exactly in the most pleasant of moods." He glanced back, his face tight.

"The admiral is never in a pleasant mood." Tim's knuckles were white on the handle of his briefcase. "I might as well get this over with now."

Morales simply grimaced and led him further into the handsomely appointed living quarters. McGee took a deep breath. He could detect the faint odor of his father's aftershave. A fleeting image of a very small boy feeling safe in his father's arms flashed through his mind as he moved forward. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

The warm hardwoods and rich red of the walls would have seemed inviting in almost any other setting, but now, all Tim felt was a sense of near panic. His mouth was bone dry and he wondered if he was going to throw up. He gritted his teeth. This was ridiculous. All he wanted to do was ask his father about Dr. Yancy. That was it. So why did he feel like he was going into the Spanish Inquisition? He had to get a grip. Couldn't let his father see his fear.

"Alright, what is it now?"

Tim started, suddenly aware that he was standing in a large book-lined study. An impressive painting of the _U.S.S Constitution_ hung framed on the wall to his right. Straight ahead, his father was glaring at him impatiently over the vast surface of his cherry wood desk.

For a moment, Tim stood speechless, his thoughts scattered to the wind. It was an all too common occurrence when faced with his father. How often as a boy had he practiced and practiced something he wanted to say to his father only to forget it all once the moment came. Mentally, he shook himself. _I won't let him do this to me again._

Tim took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. But I have a question to ask and it may point us to the alleged shooter." He opened his briefcase and pulled out a photo of Dr. Yancy placing it on the gleaming wood before his father. "Do you know this man?"

Admiral McGee glanced down for just an instant. "Yeah, I know him. Tom Yancy. One of the biggest idiots in the industry. What about him?"

"Um," Tim swallowed fighting to keep himself in professional mode. "Is there any reason Dr. Yancy might have a problem with you? I know he worked for the Lakeland Research Group, and I noticed that he was taken off the Antares project once you became involved."

The admiral's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he laughed as he leaned back in his leather chair. "Exactly what are you saying? You think _Yancy_ tried to kill me? That guy hasn't the guts. He was a spineless coward. You'd like him."

Tim tried to ignore the jibe as he rubbed his palm against his leg. Damn his nerves. "I haven't been able to contact Dr. Yancy, and I thought you might be able to provide some insight into his personality or motives."

The admiral's frown deepened as he leaned forward. His eyes bore into Tim's. "How the hell do you know anything about Yancy to begin with? I happen to know that Lakeland files are certainly not accessible to the public or NCIS or anyone else for that matter. You know it's illegal to hack into private files, right? I mean they do teach that in wannabe cop school right?"

McGee's face warmed as his anger rose. He lifted his head and glared back at his father. The man looked so damn smug and arrogant. Tim was sick of it.

"NCIS is _not_ some wannabe cop organization. It is a highly respected criminal investigative service. And right now, we're trying to find out who is trying to kill _you._ I'm sorry the Secretary of the Navy didn't feel you were worthy of being assigned your own secret service detail say like the president, but we're the best you're going to get. You don't want to cooperate, fine. But don't insult the agency just because I decided it was better than going to that damn Academy."

Tim stopped, a cold chill ran down his spine. Did he just yell at his father? He felt a surge of panic but he quickly pushed it down. This was long overdue. He lifted his chin and said nothing.

Admiral McGee stared long and hard then slowly began to clap, a harsh mocking laugh echoed in the in Tim's ears. "Oh bravo! Won't stand up for yourself, but you'll stand up for your little team. How nice." He stopped clapping and stood up until he was toe to toe with his son.

"Alright Tim, now let me tell _you_ something. I had such high hopes for you. You were going to be a credit to the McGees. You certainly had the brains to follow in mine and your grandfathers' footsteps. We McGees have been serving in the navy since Sean McGee fought alongside John Paul Jones. Well turns out I couldn't have been more wrong. You were a sorry ass little punk as a kid and you're an even bigger one now. You let people run all over you, beat you up, treat you like dirt."

"And you never lifted a finger to help me." Tim's voice was soft, full of the pain he tried to hide.

"Why the hell should I? They weren't my battles. They were _yours_. But didn't I sign you up for Tai Kwan Do? You lasted what, all of a week? First hit and you were out of there. All you wanted to do was play with your damn computers. There is more to life than computers, Tim. Damn sight more. I tried to whip you into shape, teach you how to defend yourself. And what did you do? Ran to your damn grandmother. That woman coddled you until you were nothing but an overweight, overeducated, mama's boy. It was disgusting. I had other officers laughing at me behind my back."

Tim's face burned, but he refused to back down. "I learned more about life and love from Penny than I ever learned from you." He fought to keep his voice from cracking. "You were never around for me and when you were, you were constantly bullying me. You were worse than the kids at school. Nothing I ever did was ever good enough for you. I got a perfect score on the SAT and what did you say? Nothing. Not a congratulations or job well done. I never got any positive feedback from you in my entire life. How was that helping me?"

"God," the admiral rolled his eyes. "Are we going back to the "poor little me, my daddy doesn't love me" crap? Get over it, Tim. My father didn't coddle me and look where I am today. Do you think he patted me on the head every time I did something well? Hell no. It's what he expected of me and so that's what I did. I didn't whine about how he didn't love me or tell me what a good boy I was. Unlike you, I respected my father and got respect in return. When you've done something worthy of my respect, then we'll talk. You need to meet my assistant, Lieutenant Owens. He'd show you how a true Navy son should behave." He studied McGee a moment then shook his head. "Nevermind. Any lessons Jason could convey would be lost on someone like _you_. He's got far more important things to do. As do I. You're dismissed." With that, the admiral returned to the stack of papers on his desk, completely ignoring his son who stood fuming before him.

Tim didn't know what to do. His first reaction was what it always was: obey his father and quietly leave. But there was a rebellious spark that had been fired up and he was determined to have the last word. He reached down and retrieved the photograph from the desktop.

"I think it's pretty obvious that Dr. Yancy had any number of reasons to want you dead. Good night, sir." With that, Tim turned on his heel and stormed out.

Morales met him at the front door, his eyebrows raised. "Hope you got what you wanted."

Tim hesitated and wiped his brow. He suddenly noticed a collage of photos on the wall. He paused to study them. There were a number of his sister, Sarah, a couple of his grandmother, and his grandfather, another admiral. There was even an old one of his mother, who had left the admiral a number of years ago. He smiled gently as he studied the images. Tim's then eyes narrowed as he noticed several photos of his father standing with his arm proudly around a young naval officer. To any outsider, they would think the young man was the admiral's son. There were, however, no photos of Tim. Not one.

McGee suddenly felt completely drained as he turned away from the photos. He'd been a fool to harbor any hopes his father loved him. "No more than I expected." With his head low, Tim slid out into the dark,damp night.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The next morning, Tony and Ziva arrived at the Admiral's office to relieve Morales and Carter. Both agents looked tired and aggravated.

"Rough night?" Tony tried to look sympathetic as they approached the other agents.

Carter, a tall stocky woman, her dark brown hair pulled into a disheveled bun, rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine why Admiral McGee's men haven't mutinied and stranded him on an island someplace. Preferably with cannibals. The guy is total jerk."

"Oh, c'mon Carter," grinned Morales, "Just because he called you sweetheart and expected you to get coffee and doughnuts is no reason to dislike the man."

"Oh?" Carter lifted an eyebrow. "What about you? He wanted you to go pick up his dry cleaning."

Morales shook his head. "Yeah, it's pretty obvious that he has little use for NCIS agents. Looks at us more like gophers than trained agents here to protect him."

Carter grunted as she picked up her bag. "Okay, I'm outta here. If no one kills him off before tonight, I'll see you guys later."

As Carter disappeared down the hallway, Morales turned to Tony and Ziva. His face was troubled. "Thought you guys might want to know McGee came over last night to talk to his father."

"He told me he was going to," said Tony rubbing his neck. "How did it go?"

Morales grimaced. "Not so good. God, that guy just raked Tim over the coals. We tried not to listen, but that condo isn't very big, y'know? It's like the admiral was determined not to give Tim any credit for anything he's done. Sounds like he was a real bastard while Tim was growing up. Listening to them, you'd never know he was Tim's dad."

Ziva and Tony exchanged glances. They had already experienced first- hand Admiral McGee's disdain for his only son.

"Well," Morales rubbed his shadowed eyes. "That's it for me. Like Carter said, if no one manages to kill him off before tonight, we'll see you later."

"Admiral McGee makes me very angry," growled Ziva gripping her coffee so tightly, the cardboard began to crumple. "McGee is excellent at what he does. He has proven many times over that he can handle himself. I do not understand what it is Admiral McGee wants from him; why he treats him so badly.

"I heard he wanted Tim to go to the Naval Academy and follow the old McGee tradition. But let's face it, McGee just isn't cut out for that kind of life. I mean, the minute he puts one foot on a ship, he starts puking his guts out."

Ziva smiled briefly. McGee's seasickness was legendary. Then she scowled again. "But is that any reason to treat him like he doesn't matter? Like he is incompetent? He is a good man."

Tony just shrugged and set his own cup on his chair by the admiral's office door. "Well, I guess I'd better let McGee's old man know we're here." He took a deep breath and knocked.

Unlike Gibbs, Tony waited for the admiral's aide to call him in. He decided he didn't want to antagonize the admiral any more than necessary.

"Good morning, Agent, uh, DiNozzo, right?" The officer looked at Tony expectantly.

"That's right. I just wanted to let Admiral McGee know that Agent David and I have replaced Agents Carter and Morales."

"Ah yes, Agent Gibbs' team. Well, I will let the Admiral know."

Tony paused and studied the young lieutenant perched behind the desk. Something about him rubbed Tony the wrong way. "Excuse me, Lieutenant, but can I ask you a question?"

The man looked wary. "All right."

"Can you think of any one that would want to kill the admiral?"

The lieutenant glanced at the door and chuckled softly. "A better question might be is there anyone who _doesn't_ want to kill the admiral? But specifically? No."

"So you weren't with him that night?"

"I was still in the office finishing up some paperwork. By the time I got down there, all the excitement was over."

Tony tilted his head. "Anyone see you in the office?"

The aide looked confused for a moment, then affronted. "Are you suggesting that perhaps _I _tried to kill Admiral McGee?"

"Then you couldn't be more wrong, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony turned to see Admiral McGee glowering in the doorway, arms crossed across his heavily decorated chest.

"We need to investigate all possibilities, Admiral."

Admiral McGee walked over to his aide who now stood stiffly beside the chair and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Lieutenant Owens was not alone after I left that night. Two other administrative assistants were working with him to finish up some documents we were going to need the following day." He glanced at the younger man. "Jason has been my assistant for over seven years. He's like a son to me. A _real_ son. No reason not to expect him to make admiral on day." He gave Owens a proud smile. "You're barking up the wrong tree here, Agent DiNozzo." He said a quiet few words to Owens and with a final glare at Tony returned to his own office.

Owens lowered himself back into his chair, his face now wore a smug expression. Tony suppressed a strong desire to remove it with one good punch. _Real_ son? What an asshole.

"Well Lieutenant Owens, when you're done brown-nosing, if you do happen to think of anyone, you will let us know, right?"

Owens flushed and Tony was sure he would have said something, but Tony had already slipped out the door closing it firmly behind him.

"Real son?"hissed Ziva, her eyes flashing. "_Real son_? Who does he think McGee is? Tony, please, let me go in there and break his leg."

Tony placed a hand on her shoulder and laughed. "Believe me Ziva, nothing would make me happier than watching you take that bastard and his little toady down, but spending a significant portion of my future in the brig really doesn't appeal to me." He retrieved his cup and settled down into his seat beside hers. He glanced at his watch. It would be a long day.

xxxxx

It was late afternoon when Tim dragged himself back into the bullpen. Agent Dornegat trailed wearily behind. McGee dropped his backpack beside his desk and collapsed in his chair. Gibbs looked up at him, one brow lifted quizzically.

Tim sighed, rubbing his aching head. "No luck, Boss. We interviewed everyone at Lakeland, including the CEO. They all told us that Yancy left on his own accord and that it had nothing to do with the admiral."

"You believe them?"

McGee paused, then shook his head. "No. I still think the admiral was somehow connected to Yancy's departure. A few of Yancy's fellow researchers looked uncomfortable when I called them on it. They still maintained that he left on his own accord, but I think they knew more than they were saying. I'm telling you, Boss, I really believe Dr. Yancy is our man."

He took a long swig from a bottle of water. "We stopped by his house on our way back, but there was no response. His neighbor told us she saw him packing up his car a couple of days ago. She gave us a pretty good description of it. It didn't match the car the DMV has on record for him, so obviously he's gotten another from somewhere, so we put out a BOLO. So far, no response. I'm guessing he parked his car somewhere, stole that other one for the attack and then retrieved it later."

Gibbs turned to Dornegat, who immediately paled. "What about you Dornegat? You agree with McGee?"

Startled by the attention, Dornegat gave McGee a panicked look before pulling himself together. "Um, yes sir, I mean Agent Gibbs. One of Dr. Yancy's research assistants told me that Yancy doesn't like anyone messing with his work. Said he was really angry when Admiral McGee took over, but like Tim said, they all claimed he decided to leave on his own accord."

Gibbs nodded and turned back to Tim. "The director has decided it's time to move your father to the safe house on Meridian. Thinks the admiral's condo is too well known."

"He's probably right. Pretty much everyone knows where the admiral lives."

"Abby has been trying to track down Yancy all morning. Go down and see if she's had any luck." Gibbs turned to the other agent. "Dornegat, you keep trying to contact all the people on the phone list. See if they've had any contact with Yancy in the past couple of days."

Dornegat grinned happily and scurried off to complete his task. As Tim pushed himself to his feet, Gibbs called out to him.

"Hey, McGee. Hold on."

"Yeah, Boss?"

"You okay?"

Tim had seen himself in the men's room mirror and he knew he looked like crap. He hadn't slept a wink last night. His father's words kept echoing through his mind. He felt like he was a hundred years old. He kept trying to tell himself his father's words meant nothing, that he was just being the Admiral, but he was lying. Every word cut him to the very core. But, he couldn't let it get to him. He had to forge ahead, prove to his father he wasn't worthless.

"Yeah, Boss, I'm fine. Just tired."

Gibbs didn't look convinced. "Tony called me this morning. Told me you'd gone to speak to your father."

Tim frowned. He'd forgotten he'd called Tony before leaving last night. And of course Carson and Morales had been there. There was no way they couldn't have heard the whole thing. Tim suppressed a groan. Wouldn't be long before the entire agency knew what his father thought of him.

"Yeah, I did. I wanted to ask him about Yancy. He claimed there was no way Yancy would have attacked him."

Gibbs continued to study him, but Tim said nothing more. "Okay. Go see Abby."

Tim nodded and hurried off. Gibbs watched, his brow furrowed. He then rose and made his way up to the Director's office.

xxxx

"I understand the Admiral is giving McGee a pretty hard time." Vance barely looked up as Gibbs entered his office.

Gibbs nodded, his jaw tight. "Tim went and spoke to his father last night about the case. I talked to Agent Morales this morning to check on how things went last night with the Admiral. He told me about what happened between Tim and his father. According to Morales, the Admiral pretty much ripped McGee up one side and down the other."

Vance shook his head. "Tim is an excellent agent. He should stand up to his father."

Gibbs sighed. "You know that's easier said than done, Leon. We're looking at a pattern established over thirty years ago."

"Yeah, you're right. Read _Dear Abby_ and you'll see how many highly regarded, competent adults fold when confronted by a critical parent." Vance leaned back in his chair running a hand through his hair. "I just can't stand seeing one of my best agents being torn apart, piece by piece by someone like Admiral McGee. I was hoping by keeping Tim off the actual protection detail, his contact with his father would be minimal. Guess I was just fooling myself."

Gibbs shook his head. "Despite what I said, Tim is going to have to stand up for himself eventually. However, in the meantime, we'll just have minimize the damage."

Vance nodded. "We'll have to be very careful about that, Gibbs. If anyone knows how to inflict damage, it's someone like Admiral McGee."

A/N: Sorry for the delay! It was a busy weekend between Easter and my daughter's baby shower! Thanks to all of you for reading and special thanks to those of you who reviewed. I appreciate it!


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"Hey Timmy!" Abby greeted Tim with a big smile as he entered her lab.

Tim returned it briefly, but he really wasn't in a smiling mood. He just wanted this whole case to be over and done with and his father out of his life.

"You got anything for me, Abs?"

Abby's face fell. "Not a good night?"

He waved off her concerns. "I'm fine. I just need to find Yancy and send my father on his way."

Abby tilted her head, then reached out and embraced McGee in a tight bear hug. "I think you really, really need this, Timmy."

McGee stiffened. Right now, he really didn't want anyone's sympathy. He just wanted his father out of his hair. Gently he disengaged himself from Abby's grip.

"Any luck finding Yancy?"

Abby looked as if she might to and hug him again, but simply sighed and stepped back. "Not really. However, I have been monitoring calls to your father's phone, just in case Yancy gets cocky or impatient. I didn't get anything from Yancy, but I noticed a couple of very short calls from a Dr. Myron Jenson. I don't think they lasted long enough for your dad to even answer."

McGee's brow furrowed. "Dr. Jenson? He was Yancy's main assistant at Lakeland. Could you track the location of the calls? I would guess he was looking for the Admiral, but why wouldn't he talk or leave a message. He didn't, did he? Leave a message, I mean."

Abby shook her head, pigtails flying. "Nope. And he was at that new fancy restaurant, _Scorched_."

McGee thought about this for a moment. He had no reason to suspect Jenson of anything, although according to Dorney he had been quick to defend Yancy. Perhaps he should have another word with the guy. "When was the last call?"

Abby quickly checked her computer. "Only eight minutes ago. _Scorched_ is only about fifteen minutes from here. I bet you could catch up with him."

"Yeah, I think I might."

McGee headed back up to the bullpen. Gibbs was gone and Dorney no place to be found. He hesitated. It was against protocol to go out on his own, but this guy wasn't really a suspect was he? McGee just wanted to know why he was essentially pinging his father's phone. Well, his father was always telling him he should take the initiative, prove he had some "stones" as the admiral so quaintly put it, so dammit, that's what he would do. McGee snatched up his things and headed to the garage.

It took him more like thirty minutes to get to the new restaurant. It was definitely one of D.C. favorite hotspots for the movers and the shakers. Tim parked his car a block or so away, unable to find anything closer and not wanting to depend on valet parking if he should need to get out fast. As he waited to cross the street, he studied the scene farther down the road by the restaurant. A black car pulled up and Tim's eyes widened as he saw first Tony and then Ziva get out and carefully scan the area. A moment later, the admiral and his aide, Tim didn't know his name, followed. They entered the restaurant and the valet drove the car off into the garage.

The light changed, and Tim hurried across the street surrounded by numerous other pedestrians. His eyes continually slid across his surroundings, looking for anything suspicious. It made him uneasy knowing the admiral just happened to show up at the same place as this Dr. Jenson. Were they supposed to meet? As Tim approached the busy restaurant, he hesitated. Should he go in and ask his father if he was meeting Jenson? His face warmed as he remembered his most recent encounter with the Admiral. No, maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

McGee stumbled as several pedestrians jostled him where he stood. He moved to the side of the garage and studied the opening. Maybe he should just go wait by his father's car. Tony and Ziva were with the Admiral and would keep him safe, but he really wanted to ask him about Jenson. Just not in as public a place as the restaurant.

He hurried to the valet stand and flashed his badge. "Special Agent Timothy McGee. just took a black Lincoln in. I need to see it."

The valet, a young man in his early twenties simply shrugged and wrote down the location of the car, then hesitated. "You really are some kind of cop, right? I mean, I'm not gonna get into trouble for this am I?

McGee gave him a tight smile. "Yes, I really am a federal agent." He then pulled out a photo of Yancy and another of Jenson that he'd printed before he'd left. He handed them to the kid. "You haven't seen either of these men, have you?"

The kid frowned, running a hand through his curly blond hair. "Maybe. I dunno. All these rich dudes look alike to me." He handed the photos back with another shrug.

McGee nodded his thanks and began his ascent into the garage.

The car was parked on the fourth level and McGee's legs felt the strain. Pausing to catch his breath, he checked the paper again and noted the car should be at the end of the row. He could just make it out ahead. Tim wiped his brow, took a deep breath and continued on, when a furtive movement near the Lincoln caught his attention. McGee froze, then darted behind a nearby car.

Silently, he pulled out his revolver and began to creep forward trying to see what was going on. Keeping low, he moved steadily ahead using the cars to shield him as best he could. He was just a few cars away now. He knelt down to look under the vehicles. He could make out a figure in a black hooded sweatshirt doing something to the undercarriage of his father's car. Tim went cold. A bomb? He leapt to his feet and dashed forward, gun at the ready.

"Federal agent! Stop what you're doing and stand up with your hands where I can see them!"

He was now beside the car and could clearly see the person's lower half, his head and arms still under the car. He wasn't moving now. "I'm coming out," said a muffled voice. "Don't shoot!"

"Let me see your hands!" Tim's heart pounded in his chest. This guy was going to blow up the Admiral's car! But not only the Admiral, but Tony and Ziva as well. His grip on the gun tightened.

The mystery man extended his hands from below the car. Moving closer to the car, Tim kept his focus firmly on the man, watching for any funny stuff. He was so focused however, he never saw the second guy creep up behind him with the crow bar. In an explosion of white agony, Tim let out a cry and the world went black.

xxxx

Tony stood on the sidewalk watching carefully for any suspicious behavior while they waited for the valet to bring the Admiral's car around. Admiral McGee had a lunch meeting with some senator, Tony couldn't keep them all straight, and it went on for hours. The food was good though. He had to admit that much. Nearby, Ziva was deliberately scanning her own area. They made a good team.

A few moments later, the valet arrived with the car. He got out, handing the keys to Lieutenant Owens. He watched Tony and Ziva with interest as they continued to scan.

"Hey, you guys feds like that other guy?"

Tony turned to the kid. "What? What other guy?"

The kid shrugged. "Tall guy. Showed me his badge. Had some kind of Irish name. Didn't recognize what agency though."

A chill ran through Tony as he stepped closer. "Was it McGee? NCIS?"

The valet's face brightened. "Yeah! That sounds right. Showed me a coupla photos, then said he needed to look at that car." He pointed at the Lincoln. He frowned. "Funny thing. I don't think he ever came back out."

Tony froze and stared at the car. He carefully ran his eyes along its curves and lines then reached out and touched something on the hood. His fingers came back sticky. Ziva now stood beside him. Her eyes widened at the red stain on his fingers.

"Tell the Admiral and his aide to get out of the car," Tony said to her, his voice level. Ziva nodded and moved swiftly. He then turned to the valet. "Move everyone away from here, into the building." The valet stared at him wide-eyed. "Do you understand?"

Nervously, the valet nodded and to his credit began to usher people inside ignoring their protests and complaints.

"Agent DiNozzo, what the hell is going on?" The Admiral had materialized at Tony's side, his face red.

"Sir," said Tony very quietly. "I think something may have been done to your car." _And perhaps to your son. _

"Do you really believe that, Agent DiNozzo?" Lieutenant Owns was now beside the admiral staring at the car with apprehension.

"I need everyone to move away from the vehicle," repeated Tony more firmly. He stooped down and peered under the car while Ziva did the same on the other side.

"I see it." Ziva pointed to a spot near the gas tank. "Looks fairly simple. I think I can make out some kind of timing device."

Tony quickly stood. "C'mon, everyone inside and away from the windows. _Now!"_

Ziva was already on the phone calling for assistance.

Fortunately, lunch had been over for some time and it was still too early for the dinner crowd, so there weren't many irate patrons to contend with. The streets were cordoned off and the bomb squad called it. Gibbs arrived shortly thereafter.

He found Tony and Ziva along with the Admiral and Lt. Owens well away from the danger zone.

"Hey, Boss," called Tony in relief. "Did they get the bomb?"

Gibbs nodded. "According to the bomb squad, it was a pretty simple device. A wire had come loose so it wasn't connected to the timer. Sloppy."

"So, can we leave now?" demanded the Admiral, his face set. "I have very important business to attend to."

"Sir, agents Carter and Morales just arrived with a new car for you. They'll escort you back to your office."

Admiral McGee gave him a curt nod, then hesitated glancing at Tony and Ziva. "Your agents did an outstanding job here today, Gibbs. Glad it was them and not my son or we might not be standing here now. You should be proud of them."

"Sir," Owens touched his elbow. "Agent Morales is here."

With a nod to Tony and Ziva, the admiral turned and followed Owen and Morales from the room.

Gibbs watched him through narrowed eyes.

"I would like very much to punch that admiral in the face," muttered Ziva.

"Boss," Tony's grim voice brought them back to attention. "I think we may have another problem. The valet told me that McGee came looking for the admiral's car. He went into the garage, but never came out. I found what looks like blood on the hood. I tried calling his cell but didn't get an answer. I don't like it."

Gibbs's face darkened. "You think something might have happened to him?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I feel a tingling in my gut that says something is wrong."

"All right. Let's go find that valet and find out where the admiral's car was parked."

The three agents hurried back outside. The black Lincoln had been searched for any other devices and was now being mounted onto a tow truck. The young valet was watching with a couple of his buddies. Obviously, nothing like this had happened to them before.

His eyes lit up when he saw Tony. "Man, this is the coolest thing I have ever seen! A car bomb! Glad it didn't blow, but wow."

Gibbs glanced at the young man's name plate. "Max, you say the agent that came by earlier never came back out? Are you sure you didn't just miss him? Maybe he came out another way."

Max shrugged. "I never saw him and neither did any of the other guys. I asked. Y'know because you guys seemed worried. I even called the guys over at the north exit and they didn't see him either."

"I do not like this," murmured Ziva studying the garage entrance.

"We need to know where that black Lincoln was parked."

Following the valet's instructions, the team climbed into Gibbs' nearby car, preferring speed to walking up to the fourth level. Gibbs stopped the car some distance away from the designated space. The three agents climbed out of the car and began combing the area.

"Here is some more blood," called Ziva kneeling a couple of feet from the parking space. The others hurried over and watched as she took a sample from a small pool of dark liquid.

"McGee's do you think?" wondered Tony aloud. His face was troubled.

"Abby will be able to tell us," replied Ziva closing up the evidence bag.

Gibbs knelt within the parking space looking for any signs left by the bomber. He lifted an eyebrow as he carefully picked up a small screwdriver and some tape. "Looks like our bomber may have been interrupted while mounting the bomb."

"Could explain the loose wire." Tone handed him an evidence bag.

The silence of the garage was broken by the shrill ring of a cell phone. The trio froze. It seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby.

Gibbs moved to a Mercedes parked across from the Lincoln's space. Kneeling, he reached under the vehicle and pulled out a cell phone just as it stopped ringing. He handed it to Tony who quickly checked the last caller. It was Abby. He met Gibb's gaze, but said nothing. There was no question. It was McGee's.

A/N: I'll be leaving town for a few days so probably won't be able to update until I get back, so I wanted to at least get this one up before we take off! Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

Little by little, McGee became aware of his surroundings. His growing awareness was accompanied by a nauseating pounding in his head. He stifled a groan, although the duct tape covering his mouth effectively muffled any noise he might make. The acrid odor of gasoline and exhaust filled his nostrils intensifying his nausea. He fought down a rising panic. What if he threw up with his mouth effectively sealed? He tried to take several deep breaths to try and calm himself. He needed to get a grip.

_Okay, where am I?_

Trying to distract himself, McGee took stock of his surroundings, what little he could see. His hands were pulled behind his back and tightly bound, as were his feet. By the smell and movement, it was obvious he was in a vehicle of some sort. The treads of the rubber floor mat dug uncomfortably into his cheek. He was covered with something. A blanket perhaps? Was he in a trunk? A back seat? He couldn't tell. His throbbing head made it difficult to think.

As he tried to figure out what to do next, a voice broke the silence. He froze. It seemed to be coming from above him.

"He still out?" said the voice. It was a high pitched, raspy voice. Sounded like an old man.

McGee braced himself, knowing what might come next. He bit back a cry as someone punched his shoulder, their knuckles digging deep. He kept very still.

"Yeah. Looks like it. You hit him pretty hard." That voice sounded vaguely familiar. Then McGee remembered the man under the car. He remembered everything. He closed his eyes. God.

"I hope I didn't hurt him too badly." McGee was surprised to hear the concern in the old man's voice.

"Who cares? Aren't we just going to kill him anyway?"

"No, we aren't." The old man was adamant. "I have no complaint with this man. We'll just dump him somewhere. I am not a wanton killer." He paused. "Is that his wallet? Does he have a name?"

McGee waited, feeling at least a faint sense of relief the one guy didn't want him dead.

"Interesting," said the younger man after a moment. "His name is Timothy McGee. NCIS Special Agent."

"McGee?" the older man's voice was sharp. "You're sure it's _Timothy_ McGee?"

"Yeah, that's what is says. You think he's related to the admiral?"

"I think he's his son. John once mentioned to me he had son named Timothy working for NCIS. Didn't seem particularly pleased with him though. In fact, I got the distinct impression he wanted nothing to do with him. That's the one and only time I ever heard him mention his kid. He used to talk about his daughter a lot. And of course, his aide, Lt. Owens. You'd think that guy was his son."

"Do you think Timothy here would be worth keeping as a hostage?"

The older man hesitated. "I doubt it. Perhaps if we had his daughter or Lt. Owens, but his son? No. Anyway, I just want McGee dead. I have no desire to play games. However, Agent McGee might be able to tell us where they're keeping the admiral if our bomb fails to kill him."

"I'm sure I could get that out of him." The younger man sounded way too eager for Tim's liking. His mouth was dry. Had the bomb been successful? Were his father and friends dead? The vehicle hit a pothole, slamming Tim's head into the back of what he now knew was the front seat. The sudden pain sent his senses spiraling back into a black hole of unconsciousness.

He had no idea how long he was out, but when he awakened for the second time, he found himself bound to a chair, a heavy sack smelling of mildew engulfed his head. His head throbbed worse than ever. He swallowed, fighting back the nausea. He was having difficulty focusing his thoughts.

"I think he's awake." It was the older man's voice.

Tim heard footsteps approach. He gasped as fist buried itself in his stomach. He choked back the impulse to vomit as he tried to catch his breath.

"Yeah, I think you're right." Tim could hear the smile in the other man's voice.

"All right," sighed the older man. "Go ahead and see if you can find out where they've stashed the admiral. There hasn't been anything on the news about the bomb, so I'm assuming something went wrong and it didn't go off." Tim heard a door open. Then the man spoke again. "But, don't seriously harm him. He's done nothing to us. Granted, he's that bastard's son, but I expect he's suffered more from that man's hands that either one of us. Just try and get the information as quickly as you can."

"Don't worry, I can handle it." The younger man sounded annoyed. A moment later, a door closed.

There was a long moment of heavy silence. Tim strained to hear any sound that might warn him of what was to come.

"Hello, Agent McGee." The man's voice sounded almost friendly if not for the mocking undertone. "I do apologize for the pain and inconvenience we have put you through thus far. Unfortunately, you happened to arrive at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Tim remained silent. The dark cloth of his hood blocked the light. It was like being trapped underground. He couldn't move, he couldn't seem to catch his breath. His claustrophobia began to claw its way into his head. He could hear the man circling him. There was a soft metallic scraping sound.

"I'm afraid your interruption might have actually messed up our plans. We'd hoped to hear about the admiral's car being blown up by now. I'm guessing something went wrong."

McGee's breath came rapidly now; cold sweat trickled down his back and face. He blinked away the salty sting. Not being able to see what was coming was so much worse. He couldn't hear anything now, just his own rasping breath.

Out of nowhere a blinding explosion of white hot pain pierced his left side. He cried out as his body arched against its restraints. Panting, he struggled to control himself.

"Where are they keeping your father?" The voice, soft and malevolent, came only inches from his ear.

"I…don't …know," gasped Tim. Every breath brought fresh stabs of agony pulsed through his ribcage. Tears ran down his cheeks. Thank god his father couldn't see him like this.

"That's not a good answer." The matter-of-fact voice now came from farther away .

This time, Tim heard a faint whoosh of air just before the pipe or whatever weapon the man was using smashed into his right side. He screamed again, his body flashing hot and cold, the nausea roiling in his gut. He gasped, trying to pull in enough air. His consciousness focused totally on the pain radiating through his body. He couldn't seem to think of anything else.

"_Where are they keeping your father?"_

Tim tried to swallow, but it was like sucking in sand. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Tim felt as if he were floating. Another voice, was it his, he wondered, came as if from a great distance. "I…don't…know."

The man laughed, an oddly merry sound under such dark circumstances. "Well, then Agent McGee, you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. That is, until you remember where your bastard father is hiding. I hope you don't remember too quickly though. This is going to be such fun."

Tim moaned softly. _I hope that other guy comes back before it's too late_. Those were his last coherent thoughts.

A/N: Sorry this is so short. Didn't have a lot of time to work on it, but I feel guilty if I don't post regularly! Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it!


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Where could he be?" Ziva threw her pen down in frustration.

They were all frustrated. There had been no sign of McGee since he'd disappeared several hours ago. Without his phone, they couldn't track him. There had been no sightings of Yancy or Jenson.

"You really think Jenson is part of this?" Tony sat slumped at his desk, brow creased with concern.

"Abby said he was the reason McGee went to the restaurant to begin with. Dr. Jenson has not been to Lakeland since yesterday. It would seem he is involved in some way."

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. "And the phone Abby was tracking has disappeared. Jenson must have tossed or destroyed it. So we can't even track _him_."

"Have they decided whether or not to tell Admiral McGee his son is missing?"

"I dunno." Tony glanced up towards Director Vance's office. "Not sure the admiral would even care."

Ziva frowned. "Do you really believe that? I mean, if his own son is in true danger, do you not think he might be concerned?"

"Did he even call after Tim got blown up last spring?"

Ziva considered this. "You are right. Maybe he would not care." She glanced over at McGee's empty desk. "How very, very sad."

xxxx

"Hey there, son. C'mon wake up. That's it. Need you to open your eyes now. C'mon, that's it…"

The voice droned on and on. _Why won't he shut up? _ Tim had no desire to wake up. He was happy where he was, in the dark, away from the pain.

"Nope, no sleeping! C'mon, open your eyes. Need to wake up…"

McGee groaned softly as his consciousness slowly began to resurface from the black depths.

"Here, you need a little water. Just a sip. C'mon."

Tim felt a plastic straw being inserted into his mouth and a small squirt of water bathed the bone dry membranes of his mouth. It was heaven. He greedily sucked at the straw.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there son, take it easy!"

Tim's eyes fluttered open to meet the pale blue eyes an elderly man, his thatch of white hair surrounding his head like a halo.

_Looks like Einstein_, thought McGee distantly. "Who…" was all he managed to croak out.

The man smiled. It was a warm and comforting smile. Tim immediately felt safer. "I could be asking you the same thing, but I'm Dr. Timms. Used to be the doctor around these parts before I retired. The Dansby boys found you in a ditch while they were collecting cans. They figured best thing to do was load you in their truck and bring you here. Closest hospital is almost two hours away."

Tim closed his eyes while he tried to process this information. He was in a ditch? Well, seems the old man had kept his word, and they didn't kill him. He gave a soft chuckle, then gasped in pain, his eyes flying open. At least not outright.

"Careful there, young man. You got some pretty messed up ribs there. Looked like someone was using you for batting practice. Lucky you didn't end up with punctured lung. As it is, you're going to be in a lot of pain for some time to come."

Tim's entire body ached. He moved his hand and winced.

"Looks like you broke a coupla fingers while you were at it."

"Not…me…"

Dr. Timms gently lifted McGee's head and gave him some more water. McGee smiled his thanks.

"Now, you want to tell me who you are? You didn't have any ID on you. No cell phone or anything. Thought I'd wait to call the authorities until you woke up."

"I'm… a federal agent." Tim grimaced, every word evoked new pain. His head throbbed. "Tim McGee. Kidnapped."

Dr. Timm's bushy white eyebrows shot up. "Federal agent, eh? That would explain the gun holster. Guess you know the gun is gone. And kidnapped to boot. So, you FBI? CIA?"

Tim didn't want to talk any more. He wanted to go back to sleep. He felt like an idiot. He should never have gone out on his own. You never go without backup. He deserved what he got. Gibbs would tear him a new one for being so stupid. And god, what would his father think? He wanted this all to go away. His eyes slid shut once more.

"No, no sleeping! You got a goose egg on the back of your head. Took a few stitches to close it up."

Tim struggled to push his lids open. He was in a small, tidy bedroom, the walls covered with numerous framed photographs. A small bedside lamp provided the room with a comforting glow. The doctor, clad in a pajamas and robe, was watching him carefully.

"Somebody must be looking for you, right? You want me to call someone for you?"

Tim considered this. Really, it would be better if he called Gibbs himself. "Thanks…but I better call."

Timm's eyebrows came together like one bushy caterpillar. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. You've had a pretty rough time."

"No, I'll be fine." Gritting his teeth, Tim began to painfully lever himself up biting back cries. Seeing McGee's determination, Timms gently helped him into a sitting position, carefully positioning pillows behind him. By the time they were done, Tim was bathed in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

"I have some painkillers I can give you, but I didn't want to give you anything until you'd had a chance to wake up. They'll probably knock you back out."

Tim gave him a strained smile. "I'm okay. I just need a phone."

Dr. Timms still looked doubtful, but handed him a cell phone anyway. "You can use this."

Tim took a couple of shallow breaths to steady himself, then dialed Gibbs' number, dreading what was to come.

xxxx

Gibbs carefully ran the plane across the surface of the warm honey maple grain of the board. The familiar smell of sawdust and whiskey were comforting. It had been twelve hours since McGee had disappeared without a trace. Gibbs couldn't sleep, his brain relentlessly churning.

He and Vance had had a long conversation about whether or not to tell Admiral McGee his son was missing. They finally agreed to wait until morning. Maybe Tim would turn up safe and sound. Gibbs wasn't convinced the admiral would even care.

Gibbs glanced at the old clock up on the wall. It was three in the morning. _Where are you McGee?_

As if in response to his silent plea, his cell phone's shrill call echoed through the cool basement. Immediately, he snatched it up and stared at the number. He didn't recognize it, but it was a Virginia number. He flipped it open.

"Gibbs."

"Boss? It's me, McGee."

Gibbs immediately relaxed, the tension flowing from his neck and shoulders. McGee was still alive.

"McGee, where are you? Are you all right? What the hell happened to you?"

There was pause before McGee spoke. Gibbs immediately picked up on the strain in McGee's voice. Something was wrong.

"I'm okay, Boss. Really. Two guys, Yancy and his assistant, Jenson I think, were doing something to Dad's car." There was another pause. McGee's voice sounded choked. "They…they okay? Tony…Ziva…my dad?"

"They're fine, Tim. Everybody's just fine. The bomb wasn't hooked up properly to its timer. It never went off. I think you must have interrupted them. But where are you? Are you all right?"

Gibbs could hear Tim speaking to someone else in the distance. Friend or foe? Then McGee came back on.

"I'm outside Flint Hill, Virginia. I'm with a local doctor, Dr. Timms."

"You hurt?" asked Gibbs sharply. McGee had repeatedly avoided answering this question.

"I'll be fine. Just bruised some. Nothing serious."

Gibbs's eyes narrowed. McGee was a terrible liar and the strain in his voice belied the offhand way he answered the question.

"All right. I'm coming to get you. I need directions. Let me talk to this Dr. Timms."

Again Gibbs could hear McGee's muffled words as he spoke to the other person. Finally an elderly man came on.

"Hello?"

"This Dr. Timms?"

"Yes, Agent Gibbs, is it? This young man says you need instructions on how to find my home."

"That's right." The doctor's voice reminded Gibbs of his own father's and he instinctively knew he could trust this man. "However, he won't give me a straight answer. I just need to know, is he injured?"

Gibbs heard the man hesitate before answering. "Yes."

"It is serious?"

Again the hesitation. Gibbs was sure Timms didn't want McGee to know what he was talking about. "Not necessarily."

Gibbs felt a moment of relief. Tim was hurt, but should be okay. He'd get the full story once he got out there. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. "Okay, shoot." He quickly wrote down the instructions, read them back to Timms, then asked to speak to McGee once more.

"Tim, are you sure you're safe there?" Gibbs didn't know what he could do if McGee wasn't, but he had to be sure.

"Yeah, Boss. If Yancy and Jenson wanted me dead, they would have killed me while they had me. I'll be fine. Listen, you don't have to drive all the way out here. I…I could probably rent a car someplace…"

Gibbs heard Dr. Timms protesting in the background and smiled. Obviously, this doctor wasn't going to let Tim go gallivanting off by himself.

"McGee. You stay put. That's an order. I'm on my way. Should be there in a couple of hours. You better be there when I get there."

"Yes sir, uh, Boss."

Satisfied he had McGee sufficiently cowed, he broke the connection. Gibbs took a deep breath and released it. Thank god, Tim was alive and apparently safe. The doctor said he was injured, but obviously not mortally. Well, the sooner he got out there and picked up his errant agent the better. On the way, he'd call the others and let them know McGee was all right. At least until Gibbs got ahold of him.

xxxxx

McGee slowly handed the phone back to Dr. Timms. Damn. He couldn't let Gibbs see how injured he was. He'd take him off the case and he'd lose any chance he had of showing his father he wasn't a total screw-up, although he hadn't been doing such a bang up job so far.

"You need to rest before your boss gets here." Timms tilted his head, studying McGee. "He's worried about you."

Tim grunted and grimaced. "I need to get up, move around. He can't see me like this."

Timms bushy eyebrows crawled upwards. It was like they had a mind of their own. "Uh you think he might not notice you're hurt? Every move you make screams pain."

"I don't care," snapped Tim turning to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Someone is trying to kill my father. If Gibbs sees me like this, he'll think I'm too injured to work, and he'll throw me off the case. I can't let that happen!"

Dr. Timms' expression softened. "I see. I really do, but do you think you're going to help anyone in your present condition? Your daddy wouldn't want to see you in pain."

Tim gritted his teeth. His father wouldn't give a rat's ass. But if he gave in to the pain and sat on the sidelines, the admiral would just say Tim had proven his point, that his son was weak and completely unable to take care of himself. But, he wanted Timms' sympathy and help.

"Listen, most of my work is done at a computer. I hardly ever go out into the field. In fact, I wasn't even supposed to be where I was when all this happened. Believe me, Gibbs isn't going to let leave me desk for the next six months. I can work from there with a few cracked ribs, right?" Tim tried to act as if his injuries were minor inconveniences, although in reality, he'd rather be pumped full of painkillers and spend the next few weeks in a drugged-up oblivion.

Timms' looked doubtful. "Well, sure I can tell your boss that as long as you stay at your desk, it would probably be okay, but look at you. You're white as a sheet, shaking all over, and you look like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. You're not fooling anyone."

Tim wiped the sweat from his brow. His breath came in short, painful gasps. Weakly he slammed his fist on the bed. The doctor was right. Tim knew if he stood, he'd probably pass out. Just sitting up was making the room spin and his head pounded like a jackhammer. He cursed softly.

"C'mon son," the doctor gently guided him back into a prone position. "You need to rest. You're still in shock and don't need to push yourself. Your Agent Gibbs is on his way. No use worrying about the future right now."

Tim stared up at the ceiling, acutely aware of every ache and pain. His right hand throbbed . Suddenly an image of someone carefully breaking each finger shot through his mind. He gasped, his heart racing.

"Hey, hey, calm down, Tim, it's okay."

He could hear the old doctor's comforting voice, but it was distant and disappearing in the red haze of fear and agony. All Tim could hear was the snap of his bones, one by one. His entire body started to shake. He cried out. "No! Please!"

A sharp pinch caused him a moment's distraction. He turned his pain-filled gaze to the doctor who was just pulling away, a small hypodermic in his hand.

"I didn't want to give you anything for a while, but I think perhaps it's worth the risk. This will help with the pain and let you sleep." Dr. Timms pulled the covers up to McGee's shoulders and using a small cloth, wiped the cold sweat from the younger man's face.

Tim wanted to thank him, but he couldn't find the words. The world began to recede and soon he found himself embraced in the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Dawn was just starting to paint the sky a pale pink when Gibbs rattled up the gravel drive to the old farmhouse. It was the kind of farmhouse ubiquitous with the country with its pale gray clapboards and wraparound porch. It even had a couple of old wooden rockers lined up side by side. As Gibbs pulled to a stop and turned off the engine, the front door opened with a squeak of hinges long in need of a good oiling.

An elderly man, clad in a flannel shirt and dark pants stood limned in the light of the open door, held a shotgun firmly in his hands. He peered cautiously at Gibbs.

"Dr. Timms?" called Gibbs not wanting to spook the man. "I'm Agent Gibbs."

The man's shoulders relaxed as he lowered his gun. "Sorry about that, but since Tim said he'd kidnapped, didn't want to take any chances."

Gibbs nodded and slammed the car door. A moment later he stood beside the older man and offered his hand. "Special Agent Jethro Gibbs."

The doctor set the gun aside and took the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs. I am Dr. Monroe Timms as you guessed. You got here fast."

Gibbs gave him a crooked smile. "I was worried about my agent. How is he by the way? I mean, really."

Timms glanced back at the house and ran his hand through his bushy white hair. "I know he didn't want me to tell you how he really is and supposedly, the law says I shouldn't, but I'm not really a practicing physician right now and in my opinion, it's best you do know."

He glanced around then opened the door. "C'mon. Let me get you a cup of coffee. I just made some cinnamon rolls. Figured I might as well do something useful while I waited for you."

Timms opened the door and Gibbs inhaled the rich, buttery aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. His mouth watered. He followed the old doctor down a hallway to the large farm kitchen, an expansive well- scrubbed table took center stage. A black dog lay beneath the table, watching Gibbs. He gave his tail a couple of thumps then closed his eyes. Timms pulled out a couple of chairs, then began to busy himself making coffee and dishing out large, fragrant rolls dripping icing.

"Coupla local boys found your man lying unconscious in a ditch off one the side roads hereabouts. Thought he was dead at first. I'm about the only medical man in these parts even if I am retired, and they figured they'd better bring him to me."

Gibbs sipped the hot coffee Timms placed before him and grinned. Strong and black, just how he liked it. "And?"

Timms wrapped his hands around his own mug as he settled into the seat across the table. "Looked like somebody was using him for batting practice. He's got a number of broken or cracked ribs and severe bruising along his entire torso. A number of small, but nasty burns, probably from a cigarette. Also, somebody broke a couple of his fingers and gave him a pretty nasty knock on the head. That took a few stitches and I expect he has a bit of a concussion. Tim said he'd been kidnapped. Something to do with a case involving his dad. That's about all he'd tell me. But, he didn't want me to tell you about his injuries Afraid you'd take him off the case."

Gibbs sighed deeply and tipped his head back stretching his neck. Of course McGee would be afraid of that. He was trying to prove to his father that he could handle himself and was competent at what he did. He turned to his attention back to Timms who was watching him with interest.

"Can he work?"

Timms rubbed his stubbled chin. "Frankly, I'd be happier if he stayed in a hospital for a couple of days for observation. He's lucky he didn't end up with a punctured lung. Mentally, I think you're going to have a tough time keeping him away. It's obvious to me he's got something to prove. If he doesn't have to do anything more stressful than sit at desk, he could probably handle it. He'll be in a lot of pain, but you could keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't overdo."

"That might work. I don't want to have to take him off, but if you have any doubts medically, I will."

"Agent Gibbs, I have plenty of doubts medically, but my gut tells me you should let him do what he can. He said this case involves his father. Obviously this case must be very important to him."

Gibbs didn't say anything. Just took another sip of his coffee. It _was_ important to Tim, but not in the way Timms thought.

"Is he asleep?"

Timms nodded. "I gave him something for the pain and between that and his exhaustion, he went out like a light. Would have liked to keep him awake a bit longer just in case, but I'm thinking sleep is probably the best thing for him right now."

Gibbs glanced down at his watch. "Well, I'll give him a couple more hours, then we need to get back to Washington." He picked up a fork. "In the meantime..."

xxxx

Tim awoke to an odd snuffling sound and then something wet slobbered across his face. Tim's eyes snapped open to find himself staring into the soulful eyes of a large black Labrador retriever. Tim blinked. The dog smiled, pink tongue lolling.

"I think he likes you."

Tim froze and slowly rotated his head to find Gibbs sitting in a chair in the corner regarding him with solemn eyes.

"Boss!" Tim struggled to sit up, but immediately doubled over gasping with pain.

Gibbs was by his side in an instant, easing McGee back against the pillows. "Take it easy, Tim. There's no rush."

Tim closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the sharp stabs of pain. "I'm fine, Boss." He grimaced, trying to get comfortable.

"Really, McGee? The look on your face, the grunts of pain, and the fact that half your body is covered in bandages and bruises tell me otherwise."

Tim glanced down at his chest, uncomfortably aware that he wasn't wearing anything more than his boxers. He flushed.

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

Tim swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He heard the dog snuffling around the bed.

"Tim?"

Tim took a shallow breath, conscious of his painful ribs. "Abby told me that Yancy's assistant, Myron Jenson, kept making brief calls to my father's phone. She tracked Jenson to that new restaurant."

"Scorched."

"Right. When I got there, I saw Tony and Ziva arrive with the admiral. I figured I'd look around a little and wait by Dad's car to ask him if he knew Jenson."

"Why didn't you just go into the restaurant?"

Tim grimaced. "Well, my last interview with my father didn't go so well. I figured it would be better to speak to him in a little more private location."

"Okay, go on."

"Well, I showed the valet photos of Yancy and Jenson, but he didn't know if he'd seen them or not. Then he told me where Dad's car was. I walked up since I had to park pretty far from the restaurant. When I got closer to the car, I saw there was somebody doing something to it. I hid and looked under the other cars and could see the guy was underneath the Lincoln. I figured he must be planting a bomb." Tim paused, readjusted his position, and winced, trying to get more comfortable. "Uh, well, I pulled my gun, told him to stop, and show me his hands. And, well, that's the last thing I remember."

"But that's not the end of the story, is it?" Gibbs nodded towards McGee's heavily bandaged torso and hand.

Tim looked down, his jaw tightening. The little color he'd regained quickly drained from his face.

"No." He could barely get the word out. His mind was abruptly filled with memories of searing pain, a voice in the darkness,

"It's all right, Tim. Take your time. Did you see who did it?"

Tim shook his head. "Just heard their voices. But, I'm sure it was Yancy and Jenson. Dornegat interviewed Jenson, but I heard his voice. A few words anyway. It was enough. He's the one that, um, questioned me."

Gibbs stared at him for a long moment. "What did they want to know?"

McGee glanced at Gibbs, then his eyes slid away. "They wanted to know where my dad was staying." He looked up quickly. "But I didn't tell them. I didn't tell them anything." He gritted his teeth and gripped his ribs, fighting against the pain. He closed his eyes, not really wanting to say anymore, afraid Gibbs would notice his shaking.

His eyes snapped open as he felt a firm hand grip his arm. Gibbs stood beside the bed, brow creased with concern. "You did good, Tim. No one could ask for more. Your dad would be proud."

Tim shifted his gaze to the bulky bandage encasing his right hand. His face went warm. "I don't want Dad to know about any of this." He looked up. "Does...does he know I went missing?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No. We were waiting until today."

"Good. Then don't tell him anything. I was stupid to go off by myself. I deserved what I got."

"No, McGee, you didn't. Yeah, you shoulda brought someone along but that doesn't mean you deserved to be beaten to a pulp. You interrupting the bomber probably saved your father's life, as well as Tony and Ziva's. The bomb wasn't connected properly to the timer so it never went off. Everyone is fine thanks to you."

Tim plucked at the edge of his blanket. "You, um…, gonna take me off the case?"

Gibbs sighed. "Tim, physically, you should be in a hospital. You've got broken bones, bruises upon bruises, and a concussion."

Still avoiding Gibbs' gaze, Tim nodded. He knew all this, but all he could think of was his father's scorn.

"But…"

Tim's head lifted, a small spark of hope blossoming in his chest.

"I'm not going to take you off the case."

Tim's face broke into a relieved grin. "Really?" He couldn't hide the disbelief. "You're going to let me keep working it? You won't be sorry! I'll work really hard, I'll…"

"Hold on, McGee," Gibbs lifted a hand trying to put a halt to the verbal onslaught. "I'm not finished. Today is Tuesday, no wait, Wednesday now. You will take off the rest of the week to recover. No arguments."

McGee's mouth snapped shut.

"Tim, I know this case is important to you. This is the first opportunity you've had to show your father what you can do." Gibbs grimaced. "Granted, he is not the easiest guy to impress or work with, but I still want to give you the chance. That said, I am not going to risk your health. You will rest the remainder of the week, then I'll have Ducky take a look at you. If he deems you fit enough for desk work, then you're back. Do you understand?"

McGee chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded. He knew it had been too much to hope that Gibbs would let him right back on the job after what he'd been through, but assuming they didn't catch Yancy or Jenson before next week, he still had a chance to be a part of the case.

"Thank you, Boss."

Gibbs gave him a rare smile. "Tim, I'm proud of you. And believe me, we _will_ get the bastards that did this. It's personal now." He glanced at his watch. It was close to ten in the morning. "We need to get back to Washington."

"I'll be fine, Boss, really. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"I think you need to to eat something, young man." Timms entered the room carrying a breakfast tray. "Don't know when's the last time you ate anything, but I'm sure it's been awhile. Eat this up, and then we'll get you ready to go."

Tim looked down at the plate of scrambled eggs and wheat toast smeared with what smelled like strawberry jam. A steaming cup of coffee was nestled in the corner of the tray. Suddenly, Tim was famished. He smiled his thanks to the doctor and began to dig in. Maybe things would work out after all.

xxx

A/N: Thanks to SS for pointing out that I had somehow neglected to tag this to Tim McGee's character. Not sure how that happened, but I appreciate the head's up! Thanks again to you all for reading and special thanks to those of you who review. They are much appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

McGee stared dully at the television as it blared some commercial about catheters or was it for reverse mortgages? God, daytime television sucked. He shifted his position on the bed, wincing as he did so. The painkillers Ducky had prescribed were barely making a dent, but McGee was determined to take as few as possible. He reached over to the nightstand and snagged the bottle of water that sat in a puddle of condensation. He took a swig. He looked at the clock. Could he possibly be more bored? He'd only been home two days now and he was about ready to shoot himself. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

It had been a rough trip back to D.C. from Flint Hill. Gibbs had taken McGee straight to NCIS so Ducky could check him out. McGee shuddered. That had been painful in more ways than one. Ducky had concurred with Dr. Timms' diagnoses and agreed that McGee needed to take a few days off before he'd even begin to contemplate allowing McGee to return to his desk.

Now, Tim was home and going absolutely, stark raving mad. He glanced through the doorway. His faithful typewriter sat patiently waiting alone on the desk. Tim briefly considered trying to do some writing, but the painkillers left his brain in such a fog, there was no way he'd be able to write anything coherent. He ran a hand across his stubbled shin and looked at the clock again. Was that damn thing even working?

He closed his eyes wishing he could dredge up some bits of energy. He wasn't sleeping well. That was to be expected. Every movement sent shards of pain stabbing through his chest. He hated looking at himself in the mirror; all the bruises, the burns, the bandages were stark reminders of his incompetence. The nightmares weren't helping either. It was like reliving the torture every night. He'd wake up shaking and covered with sweat fighting to breathe.

_But I can't tell anyone about that. Gibbs would never let me come back if he knew I was falling apart. I _can_ do this._

Tim was jolted to wakefulness by a tentative knocking at his door, his heart beat loudly in his ears.

"Hey, Probie, you in there? Can I come in?"

Tony. McGee released a breath. Just Tony. "Yeah, Tony," he called. "C'mon in." He glanced at the clock. It was already past six. He blinked in surprise. Where had the afternoon gone?

He heard Tony unlock the apartment door with the key Tim had given him earlier. A moment later, DiNozzo ambled into the room, a sack of food in his hand.

"It was my turn to bring you dinner." He held up the large white sack. Tim recognized it from one of D.C.s nicer Italian restaurants. The rich savory aroma of oregano, garlic and cheese filled the room. McGee's mouth began to water.

"Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it."

Tony grinned as he went back out to the kitchen to prepare the food. "No problem, McGeek. I figured it was the least I could do to thank you for not letting me get blown to smithereens." There was a pause and McGee could hear Tony moving things around in the kitchen. Tony stuck his head back in. "You wanna eat there or at the table?"

Tim knew what he'd prefer. Staying in bed was a lot easier than getting up and walking into the next room, but he also knew moving around was important to getting back on his feet. He had to prove to Gibbs he could handle going back to work.

"I'll come in there."

Tony opened his mouth, then stopped. Instead, he shrugged, walked to the bed and stood ready to assist.

Tim gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was getting easier, well, relatively easier, than it had been that first day, but getting out of bed still left him shaking and breathing hard. Tony gave him a hand and helped Tim gain his feet.

"You okay there, Tim?"

Tim nodded and gave Tony a weak smile as he shuffled across the apartment to the dining table. He carefully lowered himself into the chair and slowly relaxed with a slow exhale, allowing the pain to dissipate. He closed his eyes a moment willing his heartbeat and breathing to slow back to normal. Finally he faced Tony. He shrugged. "I'm okay."

Tony looked doubtful, but soon had the table set and plates of ravioli, salad and breadsticks lined up.

"How is the case coming?" Tim took a bite of the ravioli, allowing the warm pasta and cheese to melt in his mouth. He smiled. It was exquisite.

"Not much going on now," sighed Tony attacking his own food. "No sign of either Yancy or Jenson, and the Admiral is ready to kick us all out on our collective butts." He shoveled a large piece of ravioli into his mouth. "Frankly, I'd have no problem with that."

Tim shifted but nothing. The two sat in silence and ate. Finally Tony spoke up.

"Tim, listen, I feel terrible about what happened. You could have been killed. I'm still not sure why you weren't. I mean, those assholes were more than willing to blow up the admiral's car with all of us in it, but why didn't they kill you?"

Tim poked aimlessly at his food as his brain began to wander into those dark places he was trying so hard to wall off. The painkillers made it hard to keep his defenses up.

_Where is your father?_

_I…don't…know._

_Oh, Agent McGee, I'm sure you can do better than that. Hmm. You don't need to use _all _of these fingers do you?_

Snap… Snap… Snap.

"Tim? Tim, come on buddy, it's okay. What's wrong? C'mon, snap out of it!"

Tim blinked to find himself staring into Tony's wide, worried eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears and a cold sweat covered his body. He snatched his hands back under the table so Tony couldn't see them shake.

"I…uh…um…sorry. I…I'm okay, Tony. Really. It was nothing." He stared down at his plate, unable to meet Tony's worried gaze. Again he fought to slow his pain-filled shallow breaths. It was like he'd just run a marathon. He gripped his chest against the pain.

"Dammit, Tim, you are _not_ all right! Look at you!" Tony's face suffused with a dark fury. "Those bastards need to pay for what they did to you."

Tim ran a shaky hand across his face. Nausea roiled in his gut. "It could have been worse, Tony. I could be dead."

Tony collapsed back into his own seat and ruffled his dark hair. "Tim, I can't stand seeing you in this much pain. You're my partner. I feel somehow responsible, like I didn't have your back."

"Why should you feel guilty? You didn't even know I was there. I should have brought Dorney. I shouldn't have gone by myself. It's my own damn fault."

"Well, buddy, if you hadn't been there, I probably wouldn't be here now, so I'm grateful for that much."

Tim's mouth tightened in a brief smile. Neither said anything for several more moments, concentrating on their food once more.

Tim picked at the ravioli. "Does my dad know? About all this, I mean."

Tony snorted. "No. Hasn't even asked about you."

"Good. I don't want him to know. It would just confirm what he's always thought about me; that I'm weak and can't handle myself." _And he was right._

Tony's eyes narrowed as if he heard McGee's thoughts. "Tim, you are not weak! Did you reveal your dad's whereabouts? No! After the way he's treated you, no one would fault you if you decided to drive those killers right to the admiral's door. But you held up under hours of torture and didn't tell them a damn thing. You have nothing to be ashamed of and don't you go thinking otherwise."

Again Tim just nodded, but deep down, he didn't believe it. He still had to prove to his father that he wasn't just a computer nerd and glorified paper pusher.

xxxx

It wasn't quite as soon as Tim would have liked, but a week later Ducky finally agreed that as long as Tim did nothing but desk work, he could return.

"If it begins to be too much, Timothy, you go home," Ducky had admonished. "We want you to heal and overdoing will not be in your best interest or ours."

McGee was still in pain, but he could at least move around without feeling like he was going to keel over or throw up. He was determined to do his part in finding Yancy and Jenson. However, it seemed the pair had gone underground. A week went by with no sign of the would-be assassins.

Tony and Ziva were eventually taken off the Admiral's protection detail with other agents assigned to insure John McGee's safety.

"Thank god, that is over," muttered Ziva settling down at her desk. Tony grunted his agreement as he dumped his backpack beside his desk.

McGee ducked his head. He had such mixed feelings about his father. All his life all he wanted was his dad's approval yet so rarely did he receive even the slightest word of encouragement. He knew he harbored many bitter feelings towards his father, but deep down, he still loved him. He glanced at Ziva who was busy at her computer. He felt badly that his colleagues had been treated so rudely by the admiral. He quietly returned to his own work.

A day went by, than another, and another. Other cases demanded their attention, other crimes needed to be solved. Until something new happened concerning Admiral McGee, they were stuck.

Another Saturday arrived. McGee was grateful to have a day to rest. The strain of working while trying to heal was taking its toll. There were a couple of days he almost asked Gibbs if he could go home, but he fought back the impulse and remained at his desk. There was plenty to do, but watching the team leave without him to investigate a crime scene was hard. It made him feel useless.

Today, though, he was on his own and he decided it was time. Time to go talk to his father. He had been toying with the idea for a couple of days now. He remembered his grandmother, Penny, telling him he would need to take the first step, be the one to reach out. His father was so stiff-necked, he'd never bend and admit he'd been wrong. Tim hated not having a better relationship with the man he'd greatly admired as a boy. But he and his father were so different, it was hard to come to any kind of understanding. His father had been livid when his only son refused to follow his footsteps and join the Navy, like so many McGees before him. That was the breaking point.

Tim looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look too bad. He'd lost some weight in the past couple of weeks. He hadn't had much of an appetite. He was still determined his father not know what had happened to him at the hands of Jenson and Yancy.

Tim reached down and picked up his keys from his desk. He knew he wasn't really supposed to be driving. Ziva had been giving him a ride every day to and from work, but he hadn't taken any pain killers today. _I should be okay. _He wanted to do this alone.

The drive to the safe house was uneventful, the traffic light. Tim was thankful for small favors. He just hoped the admiral was there. Tim didn't want to call. Figured his father wouldn't see him if he knew Tim was coming.

A light rain was falling by the time he parked across the street from the house. He looked around. Nothing alerted him. He rubbed his brow with a grimace. The headache was better but it still lingered and right now, the stress was making it worse.

_Quit stalling Tim. _

He took a breath to steady himself, careful not to inhale too deeply, and climbed stiffly from his car. He looked around again. Nothing to be seen, yet he still had an odd feeling of being watched.

He plodded down the wet sidewalk until he stood outside the safe house. He rang the buzzer.

"Yes?" A tinny voice emanated from a speaker near Tim's head.

"Agent Timothy McGee."

Nothing happened for a moment. Then the gate buzzed and Tim pushed it open. Agent Carter stood in the doorway.

"Agent McGee, we didn't expect to see you here, especially since your team has been taken off the protection detail."

"Lucky!" Morales' voice could be heard from farther in.

Carter glanced back at her partner and shook her head with a smile.

Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she gasped reaching up to her neck. She groped blindly towards Tim before collapsing in a heap by his feet. Tim stared dumbfounded, trying to understand what he was seeing.

"Carter?"

Morales appeared in the hallway, struggling to pull his gun. But he was too late. He too gasped and collapsed.

Tim's brain whirled unable to comprehend what had just happened. He then heard footsteps running towards him and as he began to turn around, a rough shove sent him sprawling to the ground. He cried as a bolt of white hot pain shot through his ribs, black spots forming in his vision.

This was not good.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

"Quick, close the door."

Tim struggled to see who was speaking. His eyes widened. _Yancy? How could he be here? _

"C'mon, move them out of the way."

The sound of the second voice made Tim go cold, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He snapped his eyes to the right to see a tall, powerfully built man dragging Morales into a room adjacent to the front hall. Tim recognized him from his photograph. It was Jenson.

Clenching his jaw, Tim began to push himself up, trying to get to his feet. _I've got to stop them before they get to Dad. Got to stop them._

"Where do you think you're going, Agent McGee?"

McGee froze and slowly looked up. Jenson appeared before him grinning broadly. He reached down and gave McGee's face several rough pats. McGee's face burned.

"Good to see you up and around. Bet you're surprised to see us, huh? We've just been waiting for you to lead us to your dear old dad."

Tim blinked away the sweat that dripped in his eyes. He was confused. "What…how?"

"Tracking device." Jenson's grin widened at Tim's shocked expression. "Subdermal. With all the bruising, figured no one would even notice. We bet that you'd go see your pop eventually and lead us right to him. We were right behind you all the way. Then you got even us into the gate. Gotta thank you for all your help."

McGee collapsed back to the floor. Nausea fought with the reeling sensation that filled his head. It couldn't be true. _He _led them here? _He_ was going to be responsible for his father's death? It just couldn't be true.

"Get him on his feet." Yancy entered the hallway returning from dragging Carter into the other room. "Since he's here, he might prove useful."

Tim gasped as Jenson unceremoniously jerked him to his feet. He wavered for a few moments, trying to gain his balance. Jenson kept a firm hold on him.

"All right, Agent McGee," continued Yancy, looking around the hall. "Where might your father be?"

This was the first time McGee had seen Dr. Yancy in person. He was considerably older than Jenson, maybe in his late fifties, but he looked like he worked out. He might have preserved Tim's life once, but Tim doubted he would a second time. He noticed both men now carried guns.

"I don't think he's even here," panted McGee.

Yancy shook his head as he glanced around. "Oh, I'm sure he's here. His so-called protection is here, right? So he must be around here somewhere." He paused, then reached into a small satchel he carried and pulled out a roll of duct tape. Ripping off a strip, he slapped it across Tim's face. "Don't want you calling out any warnings, do we?" He handed the roll to Jenson who yanked Tim's arms behind his back and securely taped them together. Tim grunted, as his injured ribs screamed in protest.

"Myron, check down that room to the left."

Nodding, Jenson handed the tape back then padded to a closed door next to the kitchen. Quickly, he turned the nob and darted inside, gun held at the ready.

McGee shifted his gaze right and spotted a closed door at the opposite end of the hallway. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a large bedroom. He hadn't spent a lot of time in this safe house, but he knew there was a desk in there and his father could easily be using it for a study. A sinking feeling formed in McGee's gut.

"What's going on here?"

Tim's head jerked back to the left. Lt. Owens stood there staring at them in confusion just outside the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. Like a ghost, Jenson materialized behind Owens and brought the butt of his gun down on the back of Owen's head with sickening thud. Tim's eyes widened as Owens' nerveless hand released the cup, the dark contents splattering across the wall like blood. Owens collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath his head.

"Dammit, Myron, I told you no one but McGee was to be hurt!" Yancy's eyes blazed.

"What was I supposed to do?" demanded Jenson angrily. "Let him warn the admiral? We've come too far for that."

Yancy cursed softly, then turned towards the closed door, his face hard. "All right. Never mind. C'mon. There's only one place left. Let's just get this over with."

Jenson grabbed McGee's arm and shoved him forward. McGee looked back towards Owens. He felt numb. _Dad won't like that_.

They paused outside the door. McGee tried to think, but the throbbing in his ribs and head made it difficult to concentrate. How could he stop them?

Yancy nodded to Jenson, then grabbing the doorknob the two burst into the room beyond, propelling McGee along with them.

Tim was jerked to a halt just inside the room. Admiral McGee stood abruptly, glaring at them coldly from behind a desk. His gaze swept over his son and just as quickly dismissed him finally focusing on Yancy.

"So Tom, looks like NCIS actually got this one right. It was you and your little toadie here, trying to kill me."

"You're always so goddam smug, McGee. Yeah, it was me. You stole my life from me. Me and Jenson. He worked just as hard on Antares as I did. We stood to make millions, maybe even billions from that project before you pulled it out from under us."

The admiral rolled his eyes. "You weren't going anywhere with that, Yancy, and you know it. It was a dead end project until we took it over. We had the engineers that made it work. In your hands it was nothing but a pipe dream."

He glanced behind the group. "So, what did you do with the others? Did you kill them?" Tim could hear a slight note of tension in his father's voice.

Yancy shrugged. "The two agents are just drugged. I have no beef with them. Owens? Well, we had to subdue him. Could be dead."

McGee watched the color drain from his father's face, a small twitch below his eye betrayed the only signs of emotion. But those minor indicators told McGee just how much Owens meant to his father. He might have killed to have his father show that much concern for him.

"And Tim? Why is he here?" The admiral's voice was flat, uninterested. Tim felt like he'd been slapped.

"Oh, he led us right to you, Admiral. Couldn't have found you without his help." Jenson clapped Tim heartily on the shoulder.

The admiral's gaze once again swept his son. Tim knew he was looking for any indication that Tim had put up a fight. Unfortunately, all his injuries were well concealed. His father's expression turned to one of disgust. Tim looked away.

"Glad he's of some use to _someone_. Certainly hasn't been to me. All right, so what do you want, Yancy? You going to kill me? Haven't been doing too well in that department so far, have you?"

"I want my project back." Yancy sounded almost petulant.

"That is not an option. Only the Secretary of the Navy could approve that, and I can guarantee you, that will never happen."

"Then maybe we'll just have to be satisfied with killing you, McGee. I doubt anyone will mourn your death, do you? Certainly not little Timmy here." Jenson turned and punched McGee hard in the gut,

Tim's eyes bulged as his legs collapsed beneath him, sending him thudding to the floor.

"Not exactly a chip off the old block, is he, Admiral? I can see why you never talked about him." Jenson gave Tim a half-hearted kick in the leg.

"No. He's not." The admiral's words were glacial.

On the floor, Tim struggled to regain his breath. He had royally screwed up and now they were all going to die. He felt numb as a heaviness settled over him.

Suddenly, the deafening blast of a gunshot reverberated through the room. Tim jerked as a something heavily thudded to the floor beside him. Another shot rang out followed by the crash of breaking glass. A couple more gunshots and yelling, but none of it made any sense.

Then, all went quiet. His ears ringing, Tim blinked and squirmed trying to see what had happened. He froze with a sharp intake of breath. Just inches from his face was Tom Yancy's, his sightless eyes wide in an expression of perpetual surprise. Tim's gaze slid lower and he stiffened. A dark red stain oozed across the white expanse of Yancy's shirt. He must be dead. Tim felt cold and tried to move away, then froze at the worried sound of his father's voice.

"My god, son, are you all right?"

Tim's heart leapt. Maybe his father _did_ care after all; that he just pretended not to to protect his son_._ As Tim struggled to sit up, he spied the admiral hurrying toward Lt. Owens. Owens wavered in the doorway, a gun dangling from his hand, dark blood dripping down his cheek. The spark of hope that had flared so brightly for just an instant, abruptly died and the heaviness settled back over Tim like a blanket of lead. No. He was wrong. His father didn't care. He slumped back to the floor, defeated.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine. Got a pretty nasty knock on the head, but nothing a few stitches won't put right. But what about you, Admiral, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Damn, that other sonofabitch, Jenson, got away. Have you checked on those two NCIS agents?"

"Yes, sir. I took a quick look while I took their guns. Looks like they've been drugged. I think they'll be okay."

Tim heard the admiral sigh. "Thank god, you're all right. When Yancy said you might be dead, I…, well, never mind. All right, I'd better call NCIS. Let them know what happened."

There was a slight pause before Owens spoke. "Um, sir, shouldn't we untie your son?"

There was a longer pause, but Tim could picture the look of utter contempt on his father's face.

"What for? He got himself into this, he can get himself out. Just leave him there. NCIS can deal with it. C'mon, let's put something on that head before you lose any more blood."

The room went silent as the two men departed leaving Tim bound and alone. He felt a burning at the back of his eyes. He wished he were dead instead of Yancy. Then, maybe, his father might have shown him an ounce of concern. Maybe.

xxx

A/N: Have to leave town again, so thought I'd get this up tonight. Might get another up before I leave on Wednesday, but otherwise, might not be until Sunday or Monday! Thanks for the support! You guys are wonderful to write for.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"McGee? My god, Tim! You okay?"

Tim opened his eyes. Tony bent over him, his brow creased with concern, then a relieved smile spread across his face. He blew out a long breath.

"Thank god. I thought you were dead." Quickly Tony cut through the tape on Tim's hands and carefully pulled the strip from his face. Tim winced as skin pulled off along with it. With Tony's help, he managed to climb unsteadily to his feet. In the background he could hear voices.

Suddenly Tony frowned as he looked at the tape in his hand and Yancy's body on the floor. "Wait, they just _left you here_? All taped up on the floor next to the dead guy?"

Tim, trying to rub some feeling back into his hands, simply nodded. Then he shrugged. "I deserve it. It's my fault Yancy and Jenson found this place."

Tony's eyes narrowed as he guided Tim over to sit in the chair by the desk. "What do you mean, it's _your_ fault? They follow you here?"

Tim avoided Tony's gaze. "Yeah. Pretty much." He knew he should tell Tony about the tracking device, but right now, it just seemed like too much effort.

"Damn." Tony was silent for a moment. "Still, that doesn't make it your fault, Tim. How were you to know? And that definitely doesn't excuse them leaving you trussed up and lying on the floor. I don't care if he is your father, the guy is an asshole."

Tim grunted, wincing again. He was exhausted and depressed. His body was like lead. Every movement took too much energy. He just wanted to go home.

"McGee? What are you doing here?"

McGee looked up to see Gibbs staring hard at him.

"You can thank him for bringing Yancy and Jenson here. Led them right in the front door. Didn't you, _son_?"

Admiral practically spat the final word, loading it with such contempt it was like a physical blow. Tim's jaw tightened as he dropped his eyes back to the floor.

"McGee?" Gibbs voice softened just a notch.

McGee swallowd, then he turned a pain-filled gaze towards Gibbs.

"Boss…I…I didn't know! I mean, I…" Tim glanced at his father who glowered at him with stony eyes. He dropped his head in defeat. "Yes…, it was my fault. They followed me here. They forced their way in behind me. Shot Carson and Morales with some drug and…"

"Bludgeoned Lt. Owens. He could have been killed. Yet, injured, he still managed to pull our asses out of the fire while Tim here did nothing."

Tim felt his face flush. He continued to stare at the floor. It was like being seven years old again.

There was a long, agonizing moment. Finally Gibbs spoke.

"DiNozzo, have the paramedics check out McGee and then take him back to the yard."

"But Boss!" Tony protested stepping forward. "You don't understand. McGee…"

"Take McGee and get him checked out. We'll talk about it back at the Yard. Now, go." Gibbs' tone was firm.

Tony face reddened but he bit back his words. Then, glaring at the admiral, he placed a gentle hand on McGee's arm. "C'mon Tim, let's go."

The admiral moved stiffly to one side allowing them to pass. He refused to even look at his son.

Tim let himself to be led from the room and to where the paramedics were checking out the others. This had to be one of the worst days of his life.

xxxxx

"Ah, there's the culprit!"

Tim sat silently while Ducky examined Tim's forearm. He winced as Ducky carefully made a tiny incision and popped out a small cylindrical implant.

"There were so many bruises and abrasions, this went unnoticed." Using a pair of forceps, Ducky deftly dropped the tiny device into a small plastic jar. He turned back to McGee and laid a sympathetic hand on the younger man.

"Timothy, this is _not_ your fault. It never occurred to anyone they might put a tracking device on you. Surely your father can understand that."

Tim snorted and shook his head. "All my father understands is that I'm a bumbling idiot and an incompetent one at that. And frankly, I haven't done anything to prove otherwise. And he's right, I didn't do anything to try and stop Yancy and Jenson. Lt. Owens did save us. Even with cracked skull."

Ducky sighed as he bandaged the small wound. "Blaming yourself is not going to help anyone." He studied Tim. "Thankfully, no new injuries resulted from your recent misadventure, although I expect you are a bit more sore."

Truth be told, he was a lot more sore. Being thrown to the ground a few times had taken a toll on his already painful ribs. Still, he couldn't forgive himself for being so passive. If Owens could fight through the pain, why couldn't he? He remembered the contempt in his father's face and the hollowness in his chest grew.

"Here, Timothy. Take a couple of these. They'll help with the pain." Ducky placed a couple of small white pills in McGee's hand and handed him a bottle of water. "Now, you just rest for a bit and I'll be back shortly."

Wordlessly, Tim gulped down the pills and water, avoiding meeting Ducky's gaze. He slid off the table and settled onto a cot Palmer had set up for him. He leaned back against the wall, gritting his teeth, and closed his eyes, shutting out the world.

xxxxx

Ducky made his way up to the conference room where Gibbs and his team awaited his arrival. He was very worried about McGee. The signs of deep depression were becoming more evident as the situation with his father continued to deteriorate.

He opened the door to the conference room to find Gibbs and Ziva discussing the current case.

Hey, Ducky," greeted Gibbs. "Have a seat."

With a quick smile and a nod, Ducky settled himself into the soft leather seat. Tony arrived a moment later, his eyes blazing.

Gibbs glanced at Tony, then turned to Ducky. "Well?"

Ducky frowned and hesitated for a moment before responding. "I found a small subdural tracking device inserted under the skin of Timothy's left forearm. It was one part of his body that hadn't been x-rayed and the number of bruises and abrasions he'd suffered made it unlikely unlikely anyone would notice one more where the device was implanted."

"So they just tracked him to the safe house."

"It would seem so. He, obviously, had no idea it had been implanted, yet he blames himself."

"Yeah, so does the admiral." Gibbs shook his head. He couldn't forget the look of utter disgust he'd seen on the admiral's face when they discussed his son.

Suddenly, unable to restrain himself any longer, Tony was on his feet, his face red with anger. "And do you know what that asshole did? When I went in to check Yancy's body, Tim was there, like you saw. But what you don't know is I found him lying on the floor, bound and gagged." Tony ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward slamming his hands on the conference table. "They'd just left him there! Right next to Yancy's body, like he was a criminal or…or apiece of garbage."

Gibbs eyes narrowed. "You're sure about that? He was still tied up?"

"He sure as hell was. Just like a Christmas turkey. It was horrible. I…" Tony paused and swallowed before continuing more softly. "I thought he was dead. I mean, he was so still and I saw blood. I…" He trailed off and sank back into his seat.

"Perhaps the admiral did not know he was there?" Ziva looked from Tony back to Gibbs.

"Oh, he knew he was there." Gibbs' voice was hard. "After Tony and McGee left and you were photographing the crime scene, the admiral very carefully described to me everything that happened in exact detail making sure I knew what a complete incompetent McGee was. He definitely blames him for all of this."

"And I understand that Lt. Owen's rode in to the rescue and saved the admiral." Ducky's brow was more furrowed than ever.

Gibbs sighed again. "Yeah."

"It is a good thing he was there or they all may have been killed," mused Ziva, "But it is obvious Lt. Owens means much more to Admiral McGee than does his own son." She paused. "I had many problems with my own father, as you all know, but I always knew that he loved me. I can see how much it hurts McGee not to receive any love from his."

"He's a heartless bastard," muttered Tony. "You didn't see poor McGee lying there next to Yancy's body. God, I was just so damned scared. He wasn't moving or anything. Tim had to be in pain. I mean, he never said a word, but you could tell. So tell me, what kind of asshole would leave him tied up like that? His own son no less. Then, and this part almost killed me, Tim told me he deserved it! That it was _his_ fault Yancy and Jenson got in. I was ready to go shoot the admiral myself."

"As I said before, he does believe he is fully responsible for the debacle." Ducky glanced around at the group. "And I suppose, technically he is correct. It _was_ the microchip in his arm that allowed the would-be killers to locate the admiral."

"But he didn't know," protested Tony throwing his pencil to the table. "How can he be responsible if he didn't know he had a tracking device in his arm? And that still doesn't excuse the way the admiral treated him."

"Like I said, the admiral holds him fully responsible." Gibbs now scowled at a piece of paper. "According to Vance Admiral McGee even said something about charging Tim with criminal negligence."

"He'd have us arrest his own son?" Ziva's eyes blazed.

Gibbs shook his head. "No, but he feels we should at the very least suspend McGee until an investigation can be conducted."

"And I am sure Timothy would concur." The others looked back at Ducky. "Jethro, I am very concerned about Timothy's current state of mind. He does not believe anything he has done to date is worthy of respect. The fact that he held up through several hours of merciless torture without revealing the information the killers sought says much of his inner strength and character. But all he can see is that he let himself be captured and thus failed in his mission. Now, knowing that it was because of him, or rather the tracking device he carried, the killers gained access to his father just further confirms his feelings of unworthiness."

"And his damn father's attitude doesn't help," grunted Tony, refusing to let go. "Not to mention Golden Boy, Lt. Jason Owens. I looked up his background, Boss. He was third in his class at Annapolis, was a Navy Seal for four years, has all kinds of award and citations, and seems to excel in everything he does. No way Tim can compete with this guy. He's like Admiral McGee's dream son."

"Will Director Vance suspend him?" Ziva's voice was soft.

Gibbbs' jaw tightened. "If Admiral McGee pulls enough strings he won't have any choice. My guess is yes."

Ducky tapped his chin. "The admiral wants revenge. He was humiliated by the fact that it was his own son, no matter how innocent, that led the killers directly to him. And that Timothy showed no obvious signs of having fought back just reinforces the admiral's beliefs that Timothy is a coward and a weakling. Two things the admiral despises in a man."

"But McGee is neither of those things." growled Ziva turning to Tony for agreement. "He has shown his bravery many, many times over."

"You know that, and I know that, but all Admiral McGee sees is a young man, who in his mind, has always been lacking in those departments. As far as he is concerned, Timothy has not changed at all. He still sees him as a weak little boy, frequently bullied by others, who runs away from danger."

The group sat in a depressed, angry silence, each feeling their friend's pain.

"So, what about Jenson?" asked Tony at last. "Do you think the admiral is still in danger?"

Ziva shrugged. "The admiral said that although Dr. Yancy was the lead researcher on the Antares project when the Navy took over, Dr. Jenson was also heavily involved. He is unsure who was the instigator of the attacks against him."

"Well, Tim said that Yancy wouldn't let Jenson kill him," replied Tony frowning slightly. "That would make it seem like Jenson is the more aggressive of the two."

"I think the admiral is in just as much danger as he was before. I don't think Yancy's death has changed a damn thing." Gibbs steadily regarded his two agents. "Now, we need to track him down. Check with the neighbors around the safe house and see if they saw anything. Talk with Morales and Carson. They're probably awake by now."

Tony rose to his feet with Ziva right behind. "On it, Boss. What will you be doing?"

"I need to go talk with McGee."

Tony's brow furrowed. "Be careful with him, Boss. He's worried you're going to rip him a new one."

Gibbs gave him a sad half smile. "Don't worry, DiNozzo. I think his father has already done enough of that."

xxxx

I was able to get another chapter finished and up before our trip to New Hampshire tomorrow. Unfortunately, I doubt there will be another until after the weekend. But who knows? Stranger things have happened. Thanks again for reading and for all your entertaining reviews! I really appreciate them.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Gibbs strode to the doors to autopsy, then paused. He peered through the glass and spotted McGee slumped on a cot near Ducky's desk. He looked a hundred years old. Gibbs clenched his jaw. Damn that Admiral McGee. How could he not see the strengths in his son? Gibbs would give anything to have his own daughter back, and it infuriated him to see a parent treat his child so callously.

Tim was by far the most sensitive of his team. After watching him interact with his father, Gibbs now better understand the insecurities that plagued his agent. Tim had come a long way in the years since Gibbs took him under his wing, but he'd spent most of his life never measuring up to his father's expectations.

Gibbs sighed. He dreaded going in there. Vance had caught him as he was leaving the conference room and as Gibbs feared, Tim would be suspended from duty until an inquiry could be held. The admiral had no shortage of strings he could pull to get what he wanted.

Well, there was no used putting it off. Opening the doors, he strode over to McGee. Tim barely glanced up at him.

"McGee, you okay?"

Tim wouldn't meet his gaze. Just nodded dumbly as he picked at the bandage on his injured hand.

"Tim, look at me."

Slowly, Tim lifted his head and met Gibbs' eyes. Gibbs frowned. McGee had the look of a whipped dog. Gibbs sighed again.

"C'mon, McGee. Let's go find someplace a little more private. We need to talk."

Again, McGee said nothing but rose and silently followed Gibbs out of autopsy, into the elevator, and finally back to the conference room.

"Sit."

McGee sat. Gibbs slid into the seat across from him. He'd heard Admiral McGee and Lt. Owens' stories, now he needed to hear from McGee what had happened at the safe house.

"Okay, Tim, I need to know what happened today. Every detail. Can you do that?"

Tim swallowed, still refusing to meet Gibbs' eyes. "Yes."

"Alright. Start at the beginning. What were you doing at the safe house?"

McGee's eyes became unfocused for a moment, then he blinked and rubbed his forehead. "I…uh, well, I wanted to talk to my dad. Try and clear the air between us. I, um…well, I just thought maybe if I took the first step he'd…." He trailed off, his voice low with misery.

"He'd come around?"

McGee gave a small bitter smile. He then continued, his voice almost a monotone. "Yeah. Well, anyway, I drove over there, parked across the street and then walked to the front door. I rang the bell and identified myself. Agent Carter opened the door. I spoke with her for a moment then suddenly…" he frowned obviously trying to remember the jumbled order of events that followed. "Well, she cried out, grabbed her neck and fell down. Then Morales appeared and he did the same thing. I didn't know what happened. I…I think I heard a noise behind me but when I started to turn, someone shoved me into the house."

McGee paused, rubbing his head again. Must be the headache, thought Gibbs watching him. Gibbs stood and went over to the water cooler, returning with a cup of water. He placed it in front of McGee.

"Then what happened?"

McGee frowned. "It was kind of confused after that. I eventually realized it was Yancy and Jenson. They decided I might be useful, so gagged me and tied my hands behind my back. Um, Jenson went to check one of the rooms when Owens appeared. Jenson hit in the head with a gun. I thought maybe he was dead. There was blood."

Gibbs nodded encouragingly. "You're doing great. Keep going."

McGee absently sipped his water. "They, um, dragged me along and burst into Dad's room. Yancy and Dad started to argue. Yancy and Jenson felt like they'd been gypped when the Navy took over Antares. Like they could have made a lot of money from it. They blamed Dad and said they wanted to kill him."

Tim's eyes grew distant as his face paled with some inner pain. Gibbs could easily guess where that pain originated.

"Tony said he found you lying on the floor next to Yancy's body. How did that happen?"

Tim gave his head a slight shake as if to dispel his unhappy thoughts. "Um. Jenson punched me and knocked me down. I guess that's when Owens showed up because there was shooting, and then Yancy was on the floor next to me. And more shooting, and I think I heard glass break. Dad left with Lt. Owens to take care of his head. I…um…guess he forgot about me."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. Being left trussed up and left next to a dead body was more than a simple case of the admiral being distracted. His father purposefully and maliciously left Tim there. Gibbs felt his anger ratchet up another notch. It was a good thing the admiral was nowhere within reach.

"But, it doesn't matter," continued McGee quickly. "I deserved it. Dad was almost killed because of me. It's a good thing Lt. Owens was there or we'd all be dead."

Gibbs wanted to reach out and shake McGee. The younger man had convinced himself that it was all his fault, that he deserved to be treated so horribly. It was like watching him morph back into the nervous, insecure McGee of eight years ago. Like Ziva and Tony, he really wanted to go and beat the crap out that bastard admiral.

Now Gibbs regarded Tim thoughtfully. He had to handle this with care. Tim's mental state was very fragile right now. He had little doubt that Tim would quietly and willingly accept his suspension as his just due and in Gibbs' mind that was far worse than if he protested against it. He sighed again.

"Tim, I don't know any easy way to say this, so I'll just tell you straight out. The admiral has requested your suspension until an official inquiry into this incident can be conducted. The director fought it, but well, as I'm sure you know, your father usually gets what he wants."

Tim gave that same bitter smile once more. "Yes, he does." Suddenly, Tim frowned and for the first time, he looked directly at Gibbs.

"Why? Why do I let him get to me like this? I know I'm a good agent. I know my job. But, I've done nothing but screw up since the minute my father showed up here. It's like I'm seven years old again. Now, I feel like crap. But why? He doesn't need me. It's obvious he's found a more suitable replacement. Why can't I let it go?"

His mouth snapped shut as a flush spread across his haggard features. He looked mortified, as if he had revealed some deep, dark secret.

"Tim, he's your dad. We all want our parents to think the best of us, to love us and show us they care. You looked up to your father, tried to make him proud, but you're not him. You're your own person and your strengths and abilities are different from his. I'm not sure he can accept that."

Tim ran a shaking hand across his eyes. "All I've ever wanted is his respect. I was a good kid. I got good grades, went to top notch schools, but that wasn't good enough for him. He wanted me to go to the Naval Academy. I knew I wouldn't last a day there, but he refused to accept that. He thought I was just running away from another challenge. But it wasn't that. I would never been accepted. I've got the brains, but I'm not exactly athletic." He looked down at his hands.

Gibbs shook his head. No, McGee wouldn't have lasted long under the strict military regimen of the Naval Academy. But parents aren't always willing to give up their dreams even when faced with the realities of their child's abilities. McGee was intellectually gifted, there was no doubt about that. He flourished in an environment that challenged his mind and his creativity. That was part of what made him such an effective hacker. He was about as cut out for a military career as Gibbs was for one in hairstyling. But Admiral McGee was blind to this.

"Tim, I wish I didn't have to take you off the case. I believe Director Vance did his best to prevent it. But don't worry. It won't be for long. I can't afford to have one of my team off on some extended vacation."

McGee tried to smile. "I appreciate that, Boss, I really do, but it's probably just as well. I've done nothing but screw up this case from day one. It's probably better if I'm not involved. Next time, Lt. Owens might not be around to save the day." He sighed. "Maybe it would just be better if I resigned."

Gibbs' anger flared. "Listen to me, McGee. Maybe you screwed up when you went to the restaurant alone, but still, you knew Tony and Ziva were there. What happened at the safe house was _not your fault_. There were two other agents there and they didn't stop Jenson or Yancy either."

"But I should have done _something_!"

"Like what exactly? You're injured and were taken by surprise by two armed men. They bound you and gagged you. Carter and Morales were drugged. They're the ones that were technically responsible for the admiral's safety. Should they resign too?"

Tim shook his head in confusion. "No…but… but I'm the one that led Yancy and Jenson there. It was because of me, they were able to get into the house."

"Did you purposefully plant a tracker in your arm? Did you call them up and send them an invitation to join you at the safe house?" McGee seemed to wilt further. Gibbs gritted his teeth.

There were times when McGee took his sense of responsibility too far. Gibbs could admire that in a man. To a point. McGee was so worried about people thinking he was trying to shirk his duty, he could overreact. Gibbs had lost count of how many times McGee had offered to resign over some perceived dereliction of duty.

Gibbs sighed. "Listen, Tim. I understand how you feel, but your resignation is not going to help anyone. In fact, it would just prove your father right. That you aren't cut out for this. But you and I both know that isn't true. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Tim rubbed his head again and was silent for a long moment. Finally he nodded. "Okay." He said it so softly, Gibbs just barely caught the word.

Gibbs stood up. "If nothing else, the time off will give your ribs a chance to heal properly. When you get back, I want you back on full duty. Not just tied to your desk. We need you, Tim."

McGee looked up and Gibbs inwardly winced to see the doubt and pain still there in McGee's eyes. Then he gave Gibbs a half-hearted smile as he stood. "Thanks Boss. I appreciate that."

Gibbs gave him an encouraging smile and held the door open. "C'mon, Tim. Let's go."

Tim nodded again and stood. It was indeed, time to go.

xxxx

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Here's the next chapter. Thanks for your patience!


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Thirty days. That's how long Tim was forced to stay home. If it had been up to Director Vance, Tim wouldn't have missed a day, but his father wanted to make sure Tim was punished for his alleged negligence.

McGee didn't mind. Not really. Gibbs was right, his ribs healed more quickly when he had nothing much more to do than rest, write, and play computer games. Yet, his emotions were all over the map. One minute, he felt his suspension was fully justified. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt, besides Yancy of course, but if Lt. Owens hadn't managed to pull himself together, it could have turned out very differently. Yet, there were moments, a fierce anger overtook him. Why wasn't he good enough for his father? Why did the admiral make him feel like such a bumbling idiot? There were many nights during those thirty long days where Tim didn't sleep. He simply stared into the darkness wondering why he would never measure up.

His sister, Sarah called him a few times to check up on him. He smiled as he remembered some of their conversations.

"Tim," Sarah had said, "We both know Dad can be a royal asshole. He's always going to find some reason to pick at you. Even if you had gone to the Academy, he would have found some reason to be unhappy. Just forget about it. Don't let him get to you."

But it was easy for her. She'd been the admiral's favorite. He'd had no real expectations for a daughter and temperament-wise, they were very much alike. McGee had felt more than a twinge of jealousy over the years watching the two of them together. His grandmother, Penny had been his lifesaver.

Tim still had a week of his suspension left when the director had asked him to come in to sign some paperwork in preparation for his return. So it was with some trepidation, McGee found himself walking across the sunny Navy yard towards the NCIS building. He paused well away from the building and stared at it, his gut twisting with anxiety. Why should he be nervous? He'd worked there for years. He liked his co-workers, his team, even Gibbs. He missed them. A lot. Yet still, he felt an odd reluctance to go any further.

"What are you doing here, Agent McGee?"

Tim whirled to find Lt. Owens standing a few feet away, his lip curled in a mocking sneer. "I understood you were suspended. And rightfully so. If you ask me, they should have canned your sorry ass." He paused a moment, studying McGee thoughtfully. "So, did you come back to beg for your daddy's forgiveness?" He shook his head. "Well, I'd just forget that if I were you. The admiral has no use for a hopeless coward. He could have been killed thanks to you."

Tim felt his face flush with humiliation. "I didn't come to see the admiral. I came to see the director."

Owens snorted. "Right. Amazing coincidence that you just happened to come here on the first day Admiral McGee's been here in weeks. He's telling Director Vance right this very minute that he no longer needs or wants NCIS's so-called protection. He tried before, but this time he's got SecNav approval."

Tim glanced up at the building. _Damn. _The last person on earth he wanted to see today was his father. Maybe it would be better to just come back later.

"You know, I actually used to feel sorry for you."

Tim turned back to the lieutenant with a frown. "What?"

Owens' smug smiled broadened. "I mean, the admiral is an incredible man. And he chose _me_, to mentor. I can't tell you what an honor that has been. But you know, for a long time, I didn't even know the admiral had a son until someone asked him about you." He shook his head. "It was pretty obvious that the admiral had no interest in talking about you. Ever. He talked about your sister all the time. But you? It was like you didn't even exist. I thought that was really sad. Until I saw you in action." This time Owens actually laughed.

"My god, McGee, could you have been any more inept? It was like watching Inspector Clouseau or maybe Barney Fife. No wonder the admiral pretends he doesn't have a son. What an embarrassment you must be to him. Does Gibbs even allow you to have ammo for your gun? Or do you have to keep a single bullet in your pocket?" He laughed again, obviously pleased with his humor.

McGee's jaw clenched. He could feel his hand curling into a fist.

"Oh, wait!" Owens stopped laughing as his eyes widened with feigned amazement. "You're actually thinking about taking a swing at me, aren't you?" Then he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, his handsome just inches from McGee's. Now his voice was low and menacing.

"Agent McGee, I used to be a Navy Seal. I know a dozen ways to kill you without breaking a sweat. I could tear you into tiny pieces before you even managed to raise a fist, so I strongly urge you not to even go there." He stood erect, an ugly twist to his mouth. "Now do you understand why the admiral prefers me to you? He wants a real man. Someone he knows will have his back. Not someone who can merely debug his computer."

He suddenly grinned again, reached out and ruffled Tim's hair. "See ya, McGee." He then turned and strode away back towards the NCIS building.

Tim stood fuming, yet frozen in place. Why did he just allow Owens humiliate him like that? It was like seventh grade all over again. Why, when confronted by a bully like Owens, was he unable to do anything to defend himself? It was no wonder his father had no use for him. McGee's shoulders slumped and he glanced at his watch. It was just after eleven. Maybe he'd go eat an early lunch, not that he had much appetite now. He could come back later. Hopefully after the admiral and that jerk Owens were long gone.

He sighed, turned and headed back to his car. Meeting up with Owens had pretty much ruined his day.

xxx

Finally, the day had come. McGee was allowed to return to work. It felt like he'd been gone years rather than just over a month. He was anxious to get back to work, yet he felt a certain amount of apprehension and anxiety. Would he fit back in after such a long absence? It's not like he hadn't seen any of the others during his suspension. Tony and Ziva had come by several times and even took him out to dinner or a club on occasion. He'd had several lunches with Abby, and even Gibbs had called to check on him a couple of times. They all made it abundantly clear that they had his back. But still. It felt strange.

With a smile, he settled himself into his chair, relishing its familiarity. He was early, he knew, but he wanted a little time to himself to reaquaint himself with the bullpen. For the first time in a long while, he felt happy.

"Well, well, if it isn't McGeek, alive and well and finally back where he belongs."

Tim looked up to see Tony sauntering across the squad room with a big, welcoming grin. Tim ducked his head trying to hide his embarrassment. "Hey, Tony."

"Welcome back, Probie. It's been too long."

"I agree. Welcome back, McGee."

Ziva appeared beside Tony, her warm smile instantly made Tim instantly feel better.

"Timmy! Oh, Timmy! You're back! You're back! You're back!"

Tim turned just in time to see Abby rocketing across the bullpen.

She surged around the desk and threw her arms around Tim, squeezing him hard. She held him for several long minutes before finally stepping back. She grinned and began to unroll a large banner emblazoned with "Welcome Home McGee!" "Look! I made you a welcome home sign." She frowned. "But you came in too early. I knew I should have put it up last night." Then she smiled again and hugged him hard once more. "I've really, really missed you!"

Tim's face warmed. "Um, thanks Abs. It's good to be back."

"Welcome, back, Tim." Gibbs smiled and placed a cup of fresh coffee on the desk beside Tim. "Now maybe we can get some real work done."

"Hey!" protested Tony as he settled himself in his own seat. "Maybe I'm not McGee with all the geeky computer stuff, but I was getting better."

"Like when you put up the Victoria's Secret underwear model instead of that woman we thought murdered Petty Officer Rankin?" Ziva leaned forward on her desk, her eyebrows high.

Tony flushed, but then grinned. "Hey, you gotta admit, she was a lot better looking than Angela Petruchio!"

Ziva just shook her head and pulled a folder out of a drawer. "Tony, you will never grow up."

"Not if I can help it."

Tim smiled softly to himself. Yes, it was good to be home.

Time passed and there was no sign of Jenson. Finally, Admiral McGee was able to get his protection detail dismissed.

"Morales told me the longer they were around, the more obnoxious the admiral got," revealed Tony one day while he and Tim were at lunch. Then he froze for an instant. "Oh, man, I'm sorry I shouldn't be talking about your dad after, well...um...after what happened."

Tim shrugged and studied his sandwich. "It's okay, Tony. I can't avoid the topic forever. Yeah, he treated me like crap, but I'm over it. I'm fine."

Tony's eyes narrowed. Tim was such a terrible liar. Yet, Tony decided not call him on it. It was pretty obvious there was still a lot of pain there.

"Well, anyway, I understand Jarvis let him get rid of the day to day protection, but insisted he still have some if he was going to any big event. Like that banquet next week."

Tim tilted his head, regarding Tony with a frown. "Banquet?"

Tony took a big bit of his hamburger and nodded. "Yeah. A bunch of Navy bigwigs all meeting to discuss something or other. Frankly, I don't have a clue what it's about, but your dad will be there."

"So, NCIS is providing protection for Dad?"

Tony shrugged. "For the whole shindig. We'll all be assigned to some area of the hotel."

McGee slowly set down his sandwich as a cold chill ran down his back. He suddenly had a very, _very_ bad feeling about this.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"All right," began Gibbs. "There will be a lot of security at this event. We're just one small part of it."

McGee and his team gathered around Gibbs and the diagram of the hotel where the banquet was being held to honor Medal of Honor recipients.

"You guys are assigned to this area outside the ballroom." Gibbs pointed to a large foyer. "Tony, you'll be on the east door. Ziva, you'll be near this exit to the kitchen area and McGee, I want you near this exit that leads to the parking garage. Like I said, there will plenty of other security all over the place. I'm coordinating the NCIS contingent."

McGee studied the diagram carefully and nodded. Looked pretty straightforward. Absently, he squeezed the exercise ball in his right hand. The splints had been removed from his broken fingers, and he was working hard to build up the strength in his hand. Good thing he was left handed.

Gibbs handed each their earwig communicators. "Stay in touch. If you see anything suspicious, sing out. Everyone has been alerted to possible danger Dr Jenson presents, but frankly, I doubt he'll show up here. Too much security. However, we still need to be alert."

McGee bit his lip. His stomach was tight. No matter how reassuring Gibbs was about the amount of security there would be at this event, McGee still felt something was wrong.

Several hours later, Tim wove his way through the crowds of dress uniforms. They were everywhere. He kept peering through the mass of bodies looking for Jenson. No one else might think he was going to show up, but this was one time Tim was going to trust his own gut.

Tim craned his neck trying to get a better view. He was pretty tall, but there were a lot of men taller than he in this crowd. He squinted across the ballroom and immediately felt that all too familiar drop in his stomach. Even in a room full of decorated military, his dad stood out. Frozen, Tim couldn't help but watch as his father proudly introduced Lt. Owens to several other officers. He felt a tug at his heart. He'd never seen his father give him that look. Suddenly, his father raised his eyes and with a jolt of electricity, Tim felt their gazes connect. His father stared at him for just a moment then turned away, placing his hand on Owens' shoulder. Tim watched for an instant longer, then with a deep sigh returned to his duty.

The night was long and boring for the most part. More than once McGee heard Gibbs over his earpiece admonish DiNozzo for commenting on some of the attractive young women at the event. Tim smiled. No, Tony would never change. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Yet, despite the seemingly peaceful atmosphere of the event, Tim couldn't relax.

It was just after nine when the first explosion hit.

McGee's head snapped up as he desperately searched for the location. Other agents could be heard chattering in his ear. Was it a bomb? Smoke poured down one of the hallways leading to the foyer.

Confused voices could be heard coming from the ballroom. The doors burst open and a crowd of people burst through the doors. To their credit, the people weren't panicking, but there was a certain level of fear and desperation to get away. Police sirens could be heard in the background. Loud voices directed attendees to the nearest exits.

The second explosion came five minutes after the first. This time McGee saw the door to the kitchen explode outwards. His face burned as flying debris pelted him. Screams could be heard in the kitchen beyond. His first impulse was to run over and see if he could help. Where was Ziva? He heard her voice over his earwig calmly assessing the situation. He relaxed slightly. Coughing and groping through the dense smoke, he stumbled into someone. Grabbing onto a soft leather jacket to steady himself, McGee gasped as he came face to face with Myron Jenson.

Jenson's eyes widened, then cursing, he whirled and shoving McGee backwards, he fled back towards the parking garage. This time, however, McGee was not going to be so easily deterred. He quickly regained his feet and took off after Jenson.

"Tony! Ziva! Can you read me? Jenson is here. Heading for the garage. I'm in pursuit." There was no response. Tim could only hope that someone had gotten the message. This man was here to kill his father and had possibly killed other innocent people in the hotel. He'd be damned if he would allow Jenson to escape again.

McGee burst out into the garage and ducked low, his eyes swiftly scanning the area. He choked back a coughing fit. Thankfully the air was clear out here. At the moment, there didn't appear to be any other people. Security would have steered everyone out of the building. But Jenson was here somewhere.

McGee hurried along the aisle of the parking garage then down to the next level, his gun drawn and ready. He heard a noise from the level above, but a sudden movement caught his eye on the level below. He froze, gun ready. He peered through the gloom of the parking garage and caught of glimpse of a black leather jacket. Jenson. He was stealthily moving up the ramp in the direction of McGee, perhaps hoping to double back and ambush him. Tim just needed to lie in wait and he'd have him. Then maybe his father would see he wasn't a total waste as a human being.

Tim crept forward, his mouth dry but his gun was steady. He knew his business and would do what was needed. Jenson continued to creep forward. Tim didn't have a clean shot yet. Suddenly, the garage access door behind him opened.

"What the hell is going on here? Tim? Shouldn't you be back safe and sound at NCIS playing with your computers or whatever damn thing it is you do?"

"Dad!" Tim whirled, his heart thudding. The admiral and Lt. Owens stood just inside the garage. Out of the corner of his eye McGee spotted Jenson emerge from around the silver car at the end of the row, his gun pointing directly at the Admiral.

"No!" Tim dashed forward, firing his own weapon as Jenson fired his. The shots echoed as one through the garage. Tim slammed into the admiral, barely registering the pain in his still-healing ribs. He stumbled but picked himself up just in time to see Tony and Ziva appear from around the corner from the next level up, their guns drawn.

Wildly, Tim looked around, trying to spot Jenson.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, you idiot?" Tim spun around to face his father. The admiral's face was livid as Owen's helped him to his feet. "Shooting at goddam shadows? You could have killed someone! God, what the hell do they teach you at NCIS?"

Tim's face burned, his head whirling in confusion. "Wha..! But…Jenson! Dad, Jenson was right there! He was the one that set off the bombs. I'm sure of it." He pointed towards the silver car, but there was nothing to be seen. Tony and Ziva exchanged glances and hurried off the way Tim had pointed.

"Really." Sarcasm dripped from the admiral's words. "Where? What, is he like all those imaginary friends you had when you were little? You damn well couldn't find real ones." He turned to Owens. "You see anyone, Jason?"

Owens' face had now resumed its usual smug expression. "No sir. No one besides Agent McGee. I suspect he jumped at a shadow, as you said."

The admiral grunted in agreement.

Tim's shook his head. He was not going to give up. "But he set the bombs. Didn't you see the bombs?"

The admiral turned back to his son. "Tim, it's already been discovered the bombs were small, more for sound and smoke than anything. Other than some minor injuries from flying debris, no one was hurt. "

It was like Tim's brain was full of fog. "But, he _was_ here. He was trying to kill you! He…he must have set off those bombs to create confusion so he could get to you. Dad, the threat is real!"

Admiral McGee gave his son a hard stare. "And you were going to single handedly bring him in yourself, is that it? Frankly, I think you were just trying to show me what a big, brave NCIS agent you've become. Well, I'm not buying it. You're useless and always have been. Come on, Owens." He turned away and stiffly strode down the row towards his own car where Gibbs now stood. Owens followed in his wake giving Tim a last triumphant look. McGee simply watched them go, his shoulders slumped in defeat. _What had just happened?_

Admiral McGee pulled to a halt inches from Gibbs who glared furiously at the admiral.

"Get out of my way, Gibbs. I'm going home. Take my idiot son and put him back in front of a computer where he belongs, but first I suggest you take that gun away from him before he shoots himself in the foot."

Tim closed his eyes, every scathing word his father uttered a stab to his heart. He _knew_ Jenson had been there. He'd seen him clear as day. Dammit, he'd fired at him! Fatigue suddenly weighed him down. He shivered. His ribs ached. When did it get so cold in here? The smell of old exhaust and rubber overladen with the acrid odor of gun powder was so sharp. He opened his eyes and felt a wave of nausea as the garage seemed to whirl around him. God, was he really the coward his father believed him to be? He reached inside his jacket to rub his painful rib then gasped as sharp stab of pain speared his chest. Snatching out his hand, McGee stared blankly at the warm red liquid staining his fingers. Slowly he lifted the front of his jacket, his eyes widening as a pool of dark crimson spread across the snowy surface of his shirt. Feeling oddly detached, Tim simply watched as the ever growing tendrils of blood snaked their way across his chest. It was like Yancy all over again. He barely registered the angry sounds of Gibbs and his father's conversation.

Gibbs faced the admiral, his own jaw clenched with fury. He'd about had it with this tin pot admiral. For Tim's sake, he'd held back from telling Admiral McGee what he really thought of him. But this was the last straw.

"Begging your pardon_, sir_, but your son is not the moron here. _You are_. What the hell are you doing out here in this garage? Everyone was ordered to stay out front. Coming out here alone left you unprotected."

The admiral waved his hand in dismissal then glanced over at his son, who remained standing near the door. "If _that_ is an example of protection, I'd be better off with a troop of boy scouts armed with bows and arrows. Owens here is worth twenty of your agents. Anyway, I came out here to avoid the chaos. You and I both know this place will be a madhouse shortly. The banquet's cancelled, and there's no further reason for me to stay."

The admiral rubbed his shoulder where he'd hit the ground and regarded Gibbs with his iron gaze.

"I've read your file, Gibbs. Impressive. I can't believe you're wasting your time in NCIS. I _really_ can't believe you're wasting your time working with so-called agents like my son. You need more men like Jason, here. But men like him, brave men who are willing to give their lives for their country, are smart enough not to get involved with something as sloppy as NCIS."

Gibbs' fist slowly clenched. He took a step forward, his narrowed eyes flashing. "My agents have put their lives on the line probably more often than you or your lieutenant here, Admiral. That includes Tim."

The admiral and Owens exchanged skeptical glances. "I wish I could believe that, Gibbs," snorted Admiral McGee, "but I know what I see. Shooting at shadows does not impress me. Leading killers right to their target doesn't either. Perhaps you should train your agents how to tell the difference between a real assailant and an imaginary one."

"Admiral McGee, if Tim says he saw someone, then I believe him. Maybe you should spend less time feeling sorry for yourself that your gifted son chose a different path than yours. Maybe you should respect the choices he's made for himself. And he's made some damn good ones. Unlike you."

Admiral McGee's face became very still, his eyes narrowed into slits. "What the hell do you know about it, Gibbs? You got a son? One that has proved to be nothing but an embarrassment his whole life? Yeah, I know Tim is smart. Maybe too smart for his own good. He could have done anything with his life. But what does he do? He joins some wannabe police agency that can't figure out if it's the CIA, FBI, or Homeland security! Shit, any of those would have been preferable to NCIS. At least people have heard of _those_! Tim obviously doesn't think he needs me. He certainly never listened to anything I ever said." He put a possessive hand on Owens' shoulder. "And to be honest, I don't really need him." The admiral shook his head as he glanced back at Tim, disgust evident in his hard face. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no son."

Nearby, Tim slowly lifted his head at his father's words. They rang in his ears. All the strength drained from him like water through a sieve. His knees buckled. "Dad…" Suddenly, he didn't care anymore and let the world fade away.

Gibbs's gaze turned away from the admiral just in time to see McGee collapse to the ground. Roughly, he shoved the admiral and Owens out of his way and sprinted to the side of his fallen agent. McGee lay on his side, his face turned toward the cold cement.

"Tim?" Carefully Gibbs rolled McGee over on his side and took a sharp breath. A small pool of blood had already collected beneath the wounded man. He stared at Tim's blood sodden shirt then quickly yanked off his own jacket and placed it over the pulsing wound. He glanced back at the admiral who now stood behind him, his face white, mouth agape. "Call 911!"

Ziva appeared at Gibb's side, pulled out her phone and began to punch the buttons. Tony followed a moment later roughly dragging a sullen looking man clad in a distinctive black leather jacket. Jenson's arms were cuffed tightly behind him and blood dripped freely from a wound along the side of his head.

Tony immediately took in the situation, his stomach clenching. He'd seen this happen too many times before. Too many good agents killed in the line of duty. But Tim had gone down protecting this ungrateful asshole. Tony didn't care if he was a decorated admiral and McGee's father. He shoved the dazed Jenson forward.

"Here's your imaginary assailant, Admiral. I hope you appreciate the fact that your cowardly son just took an "imaginary" bullet for you. Believe me, I would rather it were you laying there. Not him."

Admiral McGee continued to stand frozen in place, as if unable to register the scene before him. He barely glanced at Tony.

"C'mon, Tim," Gibbs breathed, his jacket already soaked with McGee's blood. "Don't you give up, you hear me! You stay with me. That's an order." He glanced up to see the admiral still hovering silently behind him.

"Is this what a coward looks like, Admiral?" Gibbs' voice was hard, cold, and unforgiving. "If he dies, then the last words he ever heard were those of his own father disowning him. I hope that makes you happy." In the distance, they could hear the sound of sirens.

In moments, the paramedics arrived pushing everyone out of the way. It wasn't long before they had an IV going and were loading McGee into the ambulance. Gibbs began to climb in after them.

"Hold on, Gibbs." These were the first words the admiral had spoken since Tim's collapse. "He's my son, I'm going."

Gibbs simply stared at him a long moment. "If I recall admiral, you have no son."

The admiral stepped back as if he'd been slapped and watched white-faced as the second paramedic slammed shut the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. With sirens blaring, they were gone.

Tony and Ziva exchanged worried glances. Furiously, Tony yanked the prisoner by the arm. "C'mon Jenson. Let's go."

Ziva paused and turned to the admiral. "Admiral McGee. I know something about difficult relationships between fathers and their children. I hope you will find a way to make peace with your son. Although it may already be too late."

For the first time, the admiral's face registered his pain. "Thank you, Agent David. I…I better go." His voice shook. Admiral McGee stumbled back to his car where Owens still waited. Head low, the admiral paused for a long moment before finally sliding into the back seat. Owens glanced at Tony and Ziva as they hurried past with their prisoner. He almost looked shamefaced. But not quite. He climbed into the driver's seat and then he and the admiral were gone.

Ziva sighed and watched the taillights disappear. She said a silent prayer for McGee. And his father.

xxx

A/N: An anonymous reviewer made the comment that he/she felt people often wrote McGee as being weak. I don't really think of him being weak in this story as much as being a victim of his upbringing. Many very competent people fall into old familiar patterns when confronted by family members. In this case, I feel McGee spent all his life trying to impress his domineering father. When his father isn't around, he can handle himself with no problem. But his father's presence brings out McGee's old insecurities and fears. Thus, he ends up trying too hard and doubting his abilities. He reverts back to his earlier incarnation that we met in the early seasons. At least, that's how I look at it! Again, thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the support.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"God, Leon, what have I done?"

Admiral John McGee sat in Director Vance's home study, his head in his hands. Leon had never seen a man more shaken. However, he had little sympathy for him.

"John, if you want the truth, you have been a complete asshole. Pure and simple."

The admiral lifted his head and regarded Vance with haunted eyes. Vance could see the emotions warring within. There was anger, guilt and grief all mixed together.

"You really don't know your son at all, do you, John?" Vance pulled out a couple of glasses from his desk and a bottle of scotch. He poured a small amount in each glass then passed one to the admiral.

"I think I know him well enough." The admiral sounded defensive. "I know what I've seen. I saw how he led Yancy and Jenson right to me."

Vance shook his head in disgust. "Did you ever stop to think how they were able to follow Agent McGee? They barely even knew you had a son. I doubt it would have occurred to them to start following him around in the hopes he would lead them to you."

Admiral McGee frowned as he toyed with his glass. "Are you saying there was something more?"

"You're damn right I am. The only reason you're here today is because of your son. He's the one that interrupted Yancy and Jenson when they were sabotaging your car. His presence spooked them so they didn't connect the bomb properly. Then, they kidnapped him. Did you know that?"

Admiral McGee's eyes shot up. "Kidnapped? What the hell are you talking about, Leon? No one said anything to me about Tim being kidnapped."

"Of course they didn't. Tim didn't want you to know."

The admiral grunted. "Well, obviously they didn't hurt him. What did they expect to gain? There was never any ransom request, I suppose?"

Vance shook his head. He was calm on the outside, but inside, he was seething. "Of course not. That's not what they were after. But you're wrong, John. They _did_ hurt him. Badly. They tortured him for hours trying to get him to reveal the location of the safe house where you were staying. He never told them a thing. They dumped him on the side of some backwoods road in Virginia. It was only be the grace of God that he survived."

For a long moment, the admiral sat very still, not saying a word. His face had gone very pale. Then he downed his glass in one gulp and slammed the glass down on Vance's desk.

"Dammit, Leon, you're telling me, Yancy and Jenson kidnapped Tim and _tortured_ him? _And no one saw fit to tell me?"_

Vance sighed in exasperation. The admiral just didn't get it. "I told you before, Agent McGee specifically requested you _not_ be informed. He's a grown man, and that was his decision to make."

"But," Admiral McGee frowned as a thought occurred to him. "The day Yancy and Jenson came to the safe house…"

"Tim was suffering from a concussion, a number of badly injured ribs as well as a couple of broken fingers. All courtesy of Jenson. McGee was in no shape to fight anyone. He hadn't been out of the hospital very long when he came to see you. Jenson and Yancy were able to follow him because they had planted a subdermal tracking device in his arm."

"And I left him bound and gagged, lying on the floor." The admiral's voice was very soft, rough with emotion. He rubbed a hand across his face.

Vance regarded him coldly. "Yes. You did."

"I know what you all must think of me, Leon, but deep down, I truly love my son."

"Well, you have a pretty odd way of showing it, John. Like I said before, I don't think you really know your son at all. He isn't like a lot of the field agents here. Many have a background in the military or police work. Not Tim. He's a technical kind of guy. He can hack into any encrypted database you ask him to. Yet, he doesn't shirk from physical danger. Did you know he went with Agent DiNozzo to Somalia to rescue a team mate? He almost didn't survive that little excursion. He's been shot at, blown up, and almost killed countless times, yet he keeps coming back. He has faced more fears than practically any other agent here. And I have no doubt that many of those fears stemmed from your treatment of him."

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his scotch. "Did you even call him when NCIS was blown up last year? Make sure he was okay?"

The admiral's face flushed. "His grandmother told me he was fine."

"Sure, after they removed the big hunk of glass from his side."

Again, the admiral was silent, but Vance noted the tightness in the other man's jaw. Being proven you're an idiot was never easy to take.

"Speaking of his grandmother, Penny Langston is down as his next of kin. I've been trying to contact her without success. Do you know how I can reach her?"

Admiral McGee frowned for a moment. "Uh, damn, what day is it?" He grimaced as he massaged his brow. "She, Sarah, and my ex-wife all headed to Japan two days ago to go on some cultural tour. Although I believe my mother actually went so she could attend some anti-Nuke rally over there. I'll contact them."

Vance nodded and the two men sat in the dim light of the study without speaking for some time. Vance set down his glass and leaned forward.

"John, as you know, I lost my wife just a few months ago leaving my children without their mother. Yet, even gone, she's more of a positive influence in their lives then you have ever been in your son's. All McGee has ever wanted was to make you proud of him, but you repeatedly threw his accomplishments back in his face. Now, you face the prospect of losing him forever. How are you going to handle that?"

Admiral McGee stared off in the distance for a long moment, then abruptly stood. "Thank you for the drink, Leon. I need to go." Snatching up his cap, he turned sharply and strode from the room.

Vance finished off the last of his scotch and regarded the now empty seat before him. Then he sighed deeply and turned to stare thoughtfully into the dark of the night.

xxx

Tony and Ziva hovered outside Abby's apartment trying to work up the courage to knock.

"She's gonna freak," said Tony rubbing his hands down his pants leg.

Ziva pressed her lips together. "Perhaps. But we must tell her. She would want to know that McGee has been injured."

"Maybe we shoulda brought Ducky along. He might be able to calm her down."

"Ducky was going to call Palmer and go to the hospital. We must do this ourselves. She needs us to be strong, Tony."

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah, you're right. We need to get this over so we can head over to the hospital. It's already taken us too long." Straightening his shoulders, he stepped forward and firmly knocked on the door.

It took several moments before they heard any noise within. Finally, they heard someone rattle the lock on the inside. "Who's there?" The voice was suspicious.

"Abby, it's us, Tony and Ziva. We need to talk to you."

They heard more rattling until the door was abruptly thrown open. Abby, clad in an old fashioned nightgown and cap stared at the Tony and Ziva, her eyes filled with fear.

"Abs…"

"NO!" She put her hands over her ears and turned away. "No, no, no! No one else. I can't bear it. I don't want to hear about it!"

Tony and Ziva watched helplessly for a few moments as Abby tried to shut them out. They followed her into the apartment and waited. Finally, Abby's shoulders slumped as she gave in to the inevitable. Tears pooled in her expressive eyes as she slowly turned back to them. "Who?"

"McGee has been shot, Abby," said Ziva quietly. "We do not know how badly injured he is."

With a quiet moan, Abby tightly shut her eyes. Shaking, she then wrapped her arms around her body in an apparent attempt to keep herself together. "Who did it?" They could just barely hear her.

"It was Jenson." Tony stepped forward and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Tim was protecting his father."

Suddenly, Abby pulled away, her face white with anger. "What! He took a bullet for the man who's treated him like dirt his entire life? For the man that left him tied up next to a dead body?" Her voice rose with every syllable.

Ziva and Tony exchanged unhappy glances. How would Abby react if they knew just how horrible his father had been to him right before he'd been shot?

She whirled, and grabbing Tony's arm, she dragged him to the door. "C'mon. We've got to be there for Tim. _We're_ his family and he needs _us_."

It seemed to take forever before they finally reached the waiting area where Gibbs stood vigil. He turned to watch them as they entered the room, his face grim. Tony didn't like the bleak look he saw in Gibbs' eyes.

"How is he, Boss?"

Gibbs glanced back toward the OR suite. "I don't know. He's still in surgery."

Tony felt his stomach tighten. Gibbs wasn't telling them everything.

Abby tentatively approached Gibbs, tears now freely flowing down her pale face. "Please, Gibbs. Please tell me McGee is going to be okay."

Gibbs turned, regarding her with pain filled eyes as he enveloped her in a warm hug. "I wish I could, Abs. I wish I could."

Abby and Ziva settled down in a pair of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs while Tony and Gibbs went on a mission to ostensibly find coffee.

"What aren't you telling us, Boss?" asked Tony quietly as they approached the hospital cafeteria.

Gibbs sighed. "It doesn't look good, Tony. He went into cardiac arrest twice on the way to the hospital and again once they started working on him here. He's lost a lot of blood and the bullet is still in there."

Tony's jaw tightened as he fought back the lump in his throat. This was _his_ probie, _his_ McGeek. Sure, he gave him a hard time now and again, but Tim was like a younger brother to him. Like Tim, his relationship with his father was not an easy one, but at least his father didn't go out of his way to destroy him like Admiral McGee did Tim. Senior was guilty more of benign neglect than outright cruelty. Thinking of McGee, Tony knew which he'd choose.

"But, hey, he's McGee," tried Tony gamely. "He never really gets hurt. You know that."

Gibbs said nothing. He didn't have to. They both knew Tony's words were false.

At this late hour, the cafeteria was closed. It took them awhile longer before they finally found a vending machine with coffee.

Putting coins in the machine, Tony glanced at Gibbs. His voice was rough. "If Tim dies, I'm gonna kill that asshole admiral myself." He turned away and watched the cup fill with coffee.

Gibbs gave him a tight smile in return. "Not if I get there first."

The hours dragged on endlessly. Ducky and Palmer arrived an hour or so after Tony and Ziva. Vance appeared sometime later in the wee hours of the morning.

After his arrival, Vance took Gibbs aside. "Admiral McGee paid me a visit."

Gibbs stiffened, but said nothing. The deadly expression in his eyes said it all.

"He's singing a different tune now, as you might imagine. The possibility of losing a child suddenly makes a parent realize what they're worth."

"Oh, so now he's worried about Tim?" Gibb's voice was dangerously low.

Vance shrugged. "I think he feels badly about what happened. I told him about what happened to Tim at the hands of Yancy and Jenson. Thought he should know just how blind he's been about his son."

Gibbs shook his head in disgust. "He doesn't deserve a son like Tim. It's amazing Tim didn't turn out more screwed up than he did."

Vance smiled. "I think he has you to thank for that."

Gibbs looked away with a grunt. It was true. Gibbs had a skill for rooting out raw talent. Usually they were a bit rough around the edges, but he was good at smoothing those out and producing first rate agents. Tim had probably been his most challenging project, but he was proud of the results. In fact, he was damn proud of each and every one of his team.

Suddenly, Tony approached, his brow creased, his fists clenched. "Boss, the doctor just came out. Um, he wants to talk to us."

Gibbs took a deep breath and nodded. It was time.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"Well, the best I can say is Agent McGee is still alive." The doctor looked exhausted, his face gray with fatigue. "He's lost a lot of blood. We nearly lost him twice on the table. The bullet ricocheted around some, nicking his spleen and liver, puncturing a lung, and barely missing his heart. It did a lot of damage. However, we have another problem. The bullet is lodged right by his spine. There's too much swelling for me to easily reach it so for the moment, it's better to leave it where it is."

"But will he be okay?" blurted Abby, twisting her hands. "He's gonna be, right?"

The doctor grimaced, running a hand across his bloodshot eyes. "Miss, I don't know. Right now, his condition is very precarious. I don't know how much damage might have been done to the spinal nerves. There are simply too many unknowns. He is on a ventilator and the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical. If he survives, his chances increase significantly. But," he sighed surveying the intense faces before him, "There are no guarantees. Has his next of kin has been notified?"

"We're working on it," replied Vance.

The doctor eyed him wearily. "I hope it won't take too long."

Gibbs stepped forward. "Can I see him? Just for a second."

At first it looked as though the doctor would refuse, but he studied the intensity of the man before him then nodded. "For just a moment. He's in recovery. Come with me."

Gibbs glanced back at his team. He could read the hope etched on their faces, as if he could perform some miracle and ensure McGee's survival. He knew he didn't have that power. No one did, save God, but he wanted McGee to know, even if was deep within his subconscious, that he wasn't alone. That his team had his back and always would.

xxx

The waiting room outside the ICU was empty when Admiral McGee and Lt. Owens arrived sometime after seven that morning. The admiral looked around and felt a certain level of satisfaction and relief that none of Tim's NCIS team appeared to be in the vicinity. He figured they'd be hovering around Tim's room twenty-four seven. Guess they didn't care as much as they professed.

He and Owens stood outside the observation window. The nurse had told them she would take the admiral in to see his son whenever he was ready. Staring at his son, buried in a tangle of tubes and wires, Admiral McGee wondered if he ever would be.

"I know I've said it before, Admiral," said Owens quietly, "I really am sorry about what's happened to your son, but it wasn't your fault."

The admiral gave a short laugh. "No, Jason, I know I didn't personally that pull that trigger, but Tim took a bullet meant for me. A father is supposed to protect his son. Not the other way round." His voice was not quite steady. Owens glanced at him.

"I've been a real asshole to Tim," continued Admiral McGee, staring through the glass. "I never treated him like I should have. Always expected what he couldn't give. I wanted him to be like me. I know everyone thinks I'm punishing him for not going to the Academy. But, it's so much more than that."

"Sir?"

"Jason, you're Navy through and through. The Navy is your family, right?"

"Yes, sir. No doubt about that."

McGee nodded. "Mine too. And that's where the trouble lies. As you know, my father was an admiral, as was his before him. There have been McGees in the Navy since almost back to the Revolution. I wanted to continue that tradition with Tim. But, again, it was more than that."

Owens said nothing, just waited expectantly.

"When I was young, like Tim, I didn't get along very well with my dad either. He wasn't around much, always off at sea. Didn't have a lot of time for his family. But my mother, as crazy as she is, is a strong woman. She dealt with it and made sure we appreciated what we had." He rubbed his eyes for a moment. "Then I went to the Academy and everything changed. For the first time in my life, I saw respect in my father's eyes. Oh, that's not to say he wasn't proud of my accomplishments before that, but now, now he saw me as an equal. An officer in the United States Navy. Our relationship changed dramatically from that day forward. We finally had something in common. We bonded in a way that had been impossible before. And that, _that_ is what I wanted with Tim. When he rejected any idea of attending the Academy, it's like he rejected me. Rejected the opportunity to finally establish the kind of relationship we both wanted. And that hurt. Far more than I ever wanted to admit."

Owens shifted, his eyes slid from the admiral to Agent McGee's still form beyond the glass.

"So, what about now, sir? If he lives, I mean."

The admiral stared hard at his son for a long moment. "It's going to be different, Jason. It has to be. I've been a fool. Wasted an entire lifetime trying to form Tim into something he was never going to be and then resenting him for it. I don't even know if he'll forgive me for being such a bastard, but I've got to try. I want my son back."

Admiral McGee turned and spoke softly to the nurse. She smiled and led him into Tim's cubicle then left. Outside the glass Owens stiffened as the Admiral laid a hand on his son's brow and leaned forward to whisper something to him.

Slowly, he curled his hand into a tight fist, then Lt. Owens turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

xxx

Tucking his shirttail into his trousers, Tony hurried back to the ICU. He hated leaving Tim for even a minute, but sometimes even the call of nature couldn't be resisted. The ICU nurses would only allow him inside to be with McGee for five minutes every couple of hours, but still, he hated leaving his post outside. The team had eventually decided that it didn't make sense for them all to stay. There was still much work to be done back at NCIS, so they agreed to take shifts. Tony wanted to be first. He thought Gibbs might fight him for it, but after all, Gibbs had ridden in with McGee in the ambulance and stayed through the night. He might not admit it, but Tony knew the boss was exhausted. However, he wouldn't be surprised to see Gibbs back soon.

He turned the corner and stumbled to a halt. Lt. Owens stood just a few feet away, waiting for the elevator. Owens turned his head and regarded Tony calmly.

"Hello Agent DiNozzo. Glad to see you NCIS people didn't abandon Tim completely."

Tony gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "What the hell are you doing here, Owens?"

Owens shrugged. "Not much. Admiral McGee is with his son. I'm going for coffee."

Tony's eyes flicked to the ICU entrance at the end of the hall. He turned back to Owens and then gave him a wide grin.

"Gee, Owens, I guess your days of Number One Son are numbered. That's too bad since you and Daddy Dearest deserve each other. You're both a pair of SOBs." Tony felt a surge of triumph as Owens' face reddened.

"And now with Tim the Man of the Hour, where is that going to leave you? I mean, I'm pretty sure you weren't the one who tracked down the killer and you certainly didn't put yourself in harm's way for your beloved admiral, now did you? No, that was some computer nerd who according to you, hardly knew which end of the gun to shoot."

Tony took several steps until he was toe to toe with the seething Owens. "Tim McGee is one of the bravest men I know. He took a bullet for a man who wasn't good enough to clean his boots and if I had my choice, neither you nor that scumbag admiral would be allowed with a hundred miles of Tim."

Owens eyes narrowed then he laughed. "You NCIS guys really think you're something, don't you? Defending poor little Timmy McGee. Well, you know something? The only reason he was shot was because he was stupid. A good agent, somebody who actually knew what the hell they were doing, would never have been so sloppy. Frankly, he deserved what he got."

Tony never even paused to take a breath or give it conscious thought. Instinctively, his fist shot out and caught Owens squarely in the face. Tony experienced a distinct sense of satisfaction as the cartilage of Owens' nose gave way beneath his blow. He stepped back avoiding the gush of blood.

"You sonofabitch!" snarled Owens pressing his hand against his face trying to stem the flow. He started towards Tony, murder in his eyes. Tony was ready for him.

"_Stop right there_."

The force behind the command was enough to bring both men up short. Neither had noticed the elevator door open, but they backed up a step as Gibbs strode out, glaring at both of them.

"I don't even want to know what the hell is going on here." Gibbs snapped his gaze to Owens. "Go downstairs and get that looked at. You're a mess."

"But…!" Owens was not going to give up so easily. His breath came hard and fast.

Gibbs glared harder. "I _said_, go get that looked at. _Now!_"

Owens stood fuming for a moment longer before yanking a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to his battered face. He turned briefly to Tony, his eyes dark with fury. "You'll regret this DiNozzo." Then, he stalked into the waiting elevator.

As the doors dinged shut, Gibbs turned his attention back to Tony.

"Boss…listen, I know I shouldn't have but…"

Gibbs held up a hand, then clapped it on Tony's shoulder and smiled. "It's about time."

xxxx

A/N: Thanks again for all the great reviews, favorites, and follows! Hate to say it, but I have to leave town again tomorrow (son's graduation – last one! Whoohoo!), so it might be awhile before the next update. Sorry for the delay but I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Gibbs and Tony returned to the ICU waiting area just as Admiral McGee stepped out. He stopped short upon seeing them. The three men regarded each other warily.

Finally, Admiral McGee took a few tentative steps towards the others.

"Agent Gibbs, I…, well, I owe you and your agents a huge apology for my behavior."

Gibbs tilted his head. "Yeah, Admiral, I think you do."

Admiral McGee blinked, then looked away as he tightened his grip on his cap. "Gibbs, I could give a whole laundry list of reasons why I behaved the way I did, but I know you aren't interested. I made some huge mistakes, especially concerning Tim, and well, this incident has finally opened my eyes to how wrong I've been."

Tony inhaled sharply about to speak when Gibbs elbowed him in the side. Startled, Tony bit back his words looking in surprise at Gibbs.

"Admiral," began Gibbs his voice even but his eyes were hard. "You don't own me a thing. Sure, you should apologize to the agents who were part of your protection detail. They were willing to put their lives on the line for you and you treated them like crap. But the one you really need to apologize to is your son. Frankly, if I were Tim, I'd boot your ass out the door and be done with it. But I'm not Tim. Tim is a good man and all he's ever wanted was your respect and approval."

The admiral shook his head and sighed. "I know that, Gibbs. I've just been blind." He lifted his eyes to meet Gibbs'. "You have any children, Agent Gibbs?"

Tony glanced at Gibbs, noting the tightness in the other man's jaw. This was a touchy subject.

"I had a daughter. She died a long time ago."

The admiral looked nonplused for a moment. "I…I'm sorry."

"Admiral, if there is one thing I've learned over the years is that life is precious. Once you've lost someone, they're gone for good. You've wasted your life trying to make Tim into something he's not. Now, you may not get a second chance to change that."

"I know." The admiral ran a hand through his gray hair. "I just hope he'll forgive me for the way I've treated him."

"He might," replied Gibbs flatly. "But I sure as hell won't." He then turned and brushed past the admiral towards McGee's room.

Tony stood silently watching an array of emotions cross the admiral's face. There was a part of him that felt sorry for the older man, just like he periodically found himself feeling sorry for his own dad, but it passed when he remembered finding McGee lying in pain, bound and gagged, left on the floor by his own uncaring father. Like Gibbs, it would be a cold day in hell before he'd forgive and forget.

xxx

Lt. Owens sat rigidly as the ER doctor carefully set his nose. He refused to even flinch or make the slightest noise. He was furious with himself for letting that punk NCIS agent get the drop on him. Not that he really blamed DiNozzo. Owens was perfectly aware that he had been pushing some mighty sensitive buttons when he made his comment about Tim McGee.

McGee. Life had been pretty good up until Agent Timothy McGee showed up.

Owens had admired Admiral McGee for some time. The man was a legend. When the admiral had specifically asked for him, Lt. Jason Owens, to be his aide, Owens immediately understood he was now on the fast track. The world was his oyster. Some day, maybe he'd even be Secretary of the Navy or perhaps some other political posting. So, the higher profile he kept, all the better.

Admiral McGee made sure he met the right people, got invited to the right functions, and was more than generous with his praise. He was not only a valuable mentor, but a father figure as well. After his parents' divorce, Jason's father quickly remarried and when he and his new wife produced a new son, well, there wasn't much time left in his father's life for Jason.

But Jason was no fool. He could see the handwriting on the wall. Tim McGee had been grievously wounded while protecting the admiral from a vengeful killer while Owens stood uselessly in the background. It had been fine when the admiral held nothing but disdain for his only son. It just made Jason look that much better by comparison. Sure, Tim McGee was smart, but he was hardly the whole package. Jason had it all. But then the idiot had to go and get himself shot protecting the admiral. If he'd been injured under almost any other circumstances, the admiral would have been less likely to do a 180. Now, he was full of remorse and regrets and was going to do whatever was necessary to redeem himself in his son's eyes.

So, DiNozzo had a point. Where did that leave him?

"All right, Lt. Owens," said the doctor peeling off his gloves. "You're good to go. You can stop by the pharmacy and pick up your prescription for painkillers. Just take it easy."

Owens grunted his thanks and slid off the table. The throbbing in his head made him dizzy for moment, but he shrugged it off and strode from the ER. He'd be damned if he needed painkillers for something as minor as a broken nose.

"Owens? My god, Jason, what happened to you?"

Owens turned to see Admiral McGee hurrying over, his eyes studying Owens' bruised face. Instinctively Owens reached up and touched the bandage.

"Are you all right?" Admiral McGee's voice was sharp.

Owens sighed. He felt like an idiot. "Yes, sir. Just a minor run-in with somebody's fist."

"Gibbs?" The admiral's voice sharpened further.

"DiNozzo."

The admiral's face darkened. "I'll have him up on assault charges."

"No, sir, please. It was just a misunderstanding. I know your son's teammates are on edge right now, and I may have unintentionally upset him." Owens knew he'd egged DiNozzo on and he would just as soon the entire incident be forgotten. At least by others. Personally, he had no intention of forgetting about it.

"Are you sure?" Admiral McGee continued to frown.

"Yes, sir. Really, it's nothing." He paused. "How is your son?" The words were like sawdust in his mouth.

The admiral sighed. "Not good. His blood pressure keeps falling. They think there may be some internal bleeding and will have to go back in." He looked at his watch. "I need to try calling my mother again. Let her know what's happened."

"Sir, you also have that meeting at ten with Senator McMillan."

"Damn. I'd forgotten about that. I'd cancel, but it's been hard enough nailing that bastard down. If I miss this meeting, there won't be time to reschedule before the subcommittee meeting on Tuesday. Okay. Let's head back to the office. I'll just get back here as soon as I can."

Owens smiled to himself as he followed the admiral out of the hospital. If the admiral was willing to put his critically injured son on the backburner so he could meet with some idiot senator, maybe there was still hope after all. But either way, he wasn't about to give up.

xxx

Tony followed Gibbs to the observation area and froze. Just beyond the observation window, they could see a flurry of urgent activity around McGee's bed. Tony glanced at the heart monitor. There was nothing but a flat line. He went cold.

"Clear!"

Tony cringed as Tim's body convulsed as the doctors and nurses worked to restart heart. He glanced at Gibbs. The other man stood rigid, his jaw tense. Neither said a word.

It took three more attempts to restart McGee's heart. The doctor wearily replaced the defibrillator paddles. As he listened to the nurses read off McGee's vitals.

The doctor turned to the nurse beside him. "Get him prepped. I think we've got a bleeder in there somewhere, and if we don't stop it, we're going to lose him." The nurse nodded and started barking orders to the others.

The doctor looked up and seemed to notice them for the first time. He ran a hand through his short, graying hair and made his way out to meet them.

"What's going on?" Gibbs' words were soft, a sign of his concern.

"It's not good, Agent Gibbs. We can't keep his blood pressure up. I think there must still be internal bleeding, and I need to go back in and find it. You saw what happened just now. If he keeps losing blood, we may not be able to save him next time."

Tony's mouth was dry. "What are his chances?"

The doctor shrugged. "Your guess is as good a mine at this point. But not good. However, if we don't stop the bleeding, they'll be zero. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to scrub up." He turned and hurried off.

Tony suddenly noticed his fists were clenched. He hated this. He couldn't bear the thought of losing another friend. There were no guarantees in this business, but for some reason, he never thought McGee would be the one in this position. Gibbs had been here several times before. Ziva too and even himself, but McGee lived a charmed life. Other than a dislocated shoulder thanks to a drugged up marine, Tim had managed to avoid any serious injury. Even when he'd been held hostage in a women's prison, he came out with more admirers than bruises.

"C'mon, Tony. Let's go get some coffee. There's nothing we can do here."

For a moment, Tony couldn't move. Or maybe wouldn't. If he left, what would happen to McGee? He returned his gaze to the room beyond. They were getting ready to move McGee out to the OR. Tony could just make out the bone white face beneath the ventilator tubes. He looked so fragile. Tony was terrified this would be the last time he'd see Tim alive.

"Boss…" He couldn't shift his gaze away.

Gibbs laid a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I know. But McGee's tougher than he looks. He won't give up."

Tony glanced at him and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. "After you gave him a direct order not to? He wouldn't dare."

Gibbs returned the smile. "C'mon DiNozzo, let's go. We won't go far."

Still, Tony waited until McGee and his swarm of attendants disappeared. He laid he hand against the glass of the observation window. "Good luck, buddy," he whispered. "We'll be waiting."

A/N: Sorry for the delay but youngest is now graduated and our bank account is celebrating! Thanks again for all the positive support. You guys are the best.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

It wasn't long before the rest of the team arrived back at the hospital. Once Gibbs and Tony put out the call, none of them could stay away. The only absence was Vance who was in a meeting at the Pentagon.

Abby looked around the waiting room as she settled herself into one of the hard seats. "Does Admiral McGee know?"

"He was here for a little while earlier," Tony shrugged, "Not more than ten minutes. That's how long it took me to go to the bathroom and punch that weasel Owens in the nose."

Ziva's brows shot up. "You punched Lt. Owens? Why?"

Tony's face darkened. "He said that McGee was a sloppy agent and deserved to get shot."

The others all stared at him.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Abby leaning forward. "Not even a jerk like Owens would say something like that." She paused. "Would he? Because if he did, then you should have done more than just punch him in the nose, Tony."

"I might have if Gibbs hadn't stepped in."

Gibbs grunted in amusement. "DiNozzo, I stepped in to keep him from tearing _you_ to pieces. He was a Navy Seal. If I hadn't stopped him, you'd be joining McGee in the ICU."

At first Tony looked as if he might protest, then he simply grinned and shrugged. "You gotta point. But still, I did bust up his nose pretty good."

"Serves him right," muttered Abby, her eyes dark with fury. "I'd like to punch him myself. Imagine saying something so horrible about McGee. It isn't right."

For a long time, no said anything. What was there to say? Tony repeatedly checked his watch, but the time seemed to crawl by. Every time someone came out of the ICU, they all turned as one to see if the doctor had returned. But each time they were met with disappointment.

They waited.

Lunch time came and went. As the length of time increased, so did their anxiety. Abby sat curled up in the chair methodically chewing one finger nail after another. Ziva, her eyes closed, gently fingered the Star of David that hung at her throat, her lips moving in silent prayer. Tony paced, unable to sit still. Palmer and Ducky sat silently, lost in their own thoughts. Gibbs stood stiffly near the ICU entrance like a sentry keeping watch.

At long last, the doctor finally reappeared. Everyone got to their feet and hurried toward him.

"How is he?" Gibbs' voice was quiet.

The doctor sighed. "He is alive but he won't survive another episode like that. He's slipped into a coma which is never a good sign. We're continuing to transfuse him. The bullet had nicked part of the liver and it was missed with all the other damage, but we finally managed to stop the bleeding."

"Is there something you are not telling us, doctor?" Dr. Mallard eyed the surgeon carefully.

The doctor rubbed his eyes and hesitated a moment before answering. "We lost him for close to ten minutes half way through the surgery. Honestly, I didn't think we were going to bring him back this time."

"But he is alive? You did save him?" Abby's voice trembled and Tony gently placed his arm around her thin shoulders.

"For the moment. I wish I could tell you all that we fixed the problem and he'll be fine. But I can't. He's lost so much blood and although we've tried to repair all the internal damage, I can't say for certain there isn't something else that will go wrong." The doctor raised his hands helplessly. "There is only so much we can do." The strain in his face was evident to all. The near loss of his patient had obviously shaken him.

"Thank you, doctor," said Ducky quietly. "We appreciate everything you have done for our friend and will continue to do for him."

"He'll be in recovery for awhile. No visitors for now. We need to stabilize him before we move him back to the ICU. I suggest you folks go get something to eat. There's nothing you can here for the moment." The doctor looked as if he might say something else, but stopped, sighed again and disappeared the way he'd come.

The team stood silently digesting the news.

"He was dead for like ten minutes?" asked Tony looking to Ducky. "Is that possible?"

Ducky nodded. "Yes, but the longer someone is clinically dead, the more damage may occur. Brain damage, tissue damage and so on. Fortunately, he was already on a respirator and in the hands of a very capable physician so the damage may be minimized. But, the more often this happens, the more difficult it may become to revive him."

Again the team said nothing. The thought that McGee could end up brain damaged or worse was too disturbing for words.

Abby fidgeted restlessly. "I know there's nothing we can do, but I hate to leave. What if he wakes up and no one's here? He'll feel like we abandoned him!"

"My dear," said Ducky gently resting a hand on her arm. "I do not believe Timothy will be aware of anything for some time. Now is the time when we should take care of ourselves. We all need to eat and get some rest. Soon, he will need us all."

Abby chewed her lip and looked back at the ICU. Finally, her face crumpled as she fought back her tears. She nodded and allowed Ducky to lead her away with Palmer beside. For a moment, Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva stood as if undecided.

"Let's go." Gibbs turned and followed after the others. Tony and Ziva hesitated a moment longer before they too headed for the elevators.

xxx

Admiral McGee scowled at the folder on his desk. He'd just finished a meeting with a couple of idiot representatives from Louisiana who wanted the government to build a new naval base in their jurisdictions. God, he got tired of all the pork barrel projects that were tossed his way. He glanced at his watch. Well past dinner time. The work just never ended. Startled by the unexpected jangle of his phone, he dropped the folder spilling its contents across his desk. He softly cursed as he snatched up the receiver.

"Yes?"

"John, is that you?"

Admiral McGee frowned. "Mother?" He didn't care if she thought the term stemmed from some outdated paternalistic society. He refused to call her Penny.

"I just got back to the hotel. They said you've been trying to get hold of me. Sorry, but my cell phone doesn't seem to work over here."

Admiral McGee ran a hand across his face. "I needed to tell you something." He hesitated for just an instant. "Tim's been shot."

"What?" His mother's volume rose a notch. "Did you say Timothy's been _shot_?"

"Yes, Mother. The bullet was meant for me, but Tim got in the way."

There was a long silence. Finally, Penny spoke again, with just a slight quaver to her voice. "Are you telling me, that Timothy was shot protecting you? Is he alive? Will…will he be okay?"

The admiral sighed. "He's alive. Will he live? I don't know."

Another long silence as his mother absorbed this. "John, what are you doing at your office then? Why aren't you at the hospital at your son's side?" Now, she sounded angry. The admiral winced.

"There was nothing I could do there. He has very capable doctors and I had several important meetings I needed to attend." He stopped.

"Oh, really? Meetings?" He knew that tone. She was getting ready to rip him a new one. "You mean to say that it's more important to talk about some new ship or weapons system or uniform color than being at your wounded son's side at the hospital? What meeting could possibly more important _than your own son's life_? I always thought your father was cold and unfeeling, but you, John, you win the first place all time big asshole prize. I can't believe you're my son sometimes."

"Listen, Mother…" The admiral tried to break in, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Where is he? I want to call that hospital and check on him myself since you are apparently too busy. Then I'm going to tell Sara and Margaret and we're heading home immediately. And when I get there, you'd better be with him."

The admiral winced as she slammed the phone down in his ear. He cursed. Who was she to talk? She'd spent a lot of his childhood off at some protest or another. She was hardly a model of good parenting.

Fuming, he barely noticed Lt. Owens at the door.

"Sir? Is everything all right?"

"No, it sure as hell isn't all right. My mother has the gall to call me a bad parent. Do you know where she was when I was in a motorcycle accident back in 1972? She was at some anti-war demonstration in Chicago. She couldn't be bothered to come home until my aunt had to go bail her out of jail." Admiral McGee was on his feet now, pacing the room.

"Maybe I haven't always been there for Tim, but I'm sure as hell am here now_." _He paused. Owens simply watched.

"But maybe she's right," Admiral McGee sighed. "Why am I here and not at the hospital? I only meant to stay for that one meeting but there was always one more thing to do." He looked at Owens. "Jason, there will _always_ be one more thing to do. Always something just a little more urgent than my own family. But what could really be more urgent than my own son's life?"

"Sir," said Lt. Owens stepping closer. "You are not just any man. Many people depend on you and the decisions you make. Sometimes people in your position don't always have the luxury of putting their own lives first."

"Well, maybe it's time I did." The admiral turned and sat back in his seat, his jaw firm. "Maybe it's time I resigned and put my family first for a change."

Owens stared at him, adeptly masking the panic he felt inside. The admiral simply _couldn't_ resign. He was too important to waste his time sitting by the bedside of his incompetent son. Tim McGee didn't deserve a father like the admiral. He would have done better with someone like Steve Jobs or Bill Gates. Technology geeks. Admiral McGee had devoted his life to something far more important – the defense of his country. He was a true hero and Owens would be damned if he'd let someone as insignificant as Special Agent Timothy McGee derail the admiral's career. If the admiral really wanted to retire, that was one thing, but to give up his career to look after his son, a son he didn't even particularly like, well _that_, that was totally unacceptable. And Owens was not one to sit around and simply let things happen.

"Sir, are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, perhaps you should give it some thought. Discuss it with the Secretary of the Navy. You know he depends on you."

The admiral scowled. "You're probably right."

"I know you've got several big projects in the pipeline right now. It might be set things back if you drop it all into somebody else's lap without warning."

Admiral McGee looked up at Lt. Owens. "Jason, you are a very astute young man. You're right. I'm thinking emotionally right now, not objectively, and that always leads to trouble. However, I really should go check on Tim."

"You could call the hospital, sir. I have the surgeon's number. You have that meeting with Admiral Murray in an hour. I suppose we could reschedule if needed, but he's supposed to fly to Guam tomorrow."

"Damn. It's like I told you, there is always one more thing. Fine, get the surgeon on the line for me. If Tim is conscious then I should go over there. If not, and there isn't some imminent disaster, I'll meet with Murray."

"Yes, sir." Owens hurried from the office back to his desk. Once Admiral Murray arrived, Owens knew Admiral McGee would send him home. The admiral and Murray went way back and would probably head out for dinner and drinks. He glanced at his calendar. If he was released early, he could pay his weekly visit to his grandmother. Then, Lt. Owens might just take a little detour and pay the ailing Agent McGee a visit.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Between a grandbaby ending up in the hospital again and these awful allergies, writing has kind of been pushed to back burner! Hopefully things will move ahead in a more timely fashion now.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

The long, nightmarish day finally wound to a close. Gibbs had gone home for dinner, even though he wasn't hungry. Ducky insisted. The entire team would meet back at the hospital in a couple of hours. None wanted to stay away for long until they knew McGee was going to pull through.

Gibbs stood in his basement, a sander in his hand. He lovingly ran a hand along the smooth edge of the wood he'd just sanded to a satin finish. Nothing calmed him down better than working with wood. It spoke to him, soothing his often troubled soul. But tonight, he couldn't hear it. Instead, it was his gut that kept nagging at him. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he felt something was wrong. Not that anything was right at the moment.

He couldn't help thinking about McGee. McGee, whose own father wanted nothing to do with him until Tim took a bullet for him. Gibbs didn't always understand the younger man. Ziva and Tony made more sense to him, but Tim came from a generation of technophiles who teethed on computers and video games. Gibbs preferred a simpler time, but he appreciated McGee's skills even if he didn't understand them. And he was turning out to be a damn good agent. But now, that might all be lost if he didn't make it.

Gibbs picked up a mason jar that sat on the workbench. The glass was cool in his hand as he studied the dark amber scotch within. It's smoky aroma familiar and comforting. He took a sip and felt the smooth burn down his throat. He set the jar back down. He couldn't settle. He felt antsy and he didn't like it. He glanced at the clock. It was close to 7:30. They'd all agreed to meet back at the hospital by nine. He began sanding the wood once more, but the clean odor of the sawdust didn't have the settling effect it normally did. Gibbs set the sander down. He glanced at the clock again. Only five minutes had gone by. He shook his head. Something was wrong. He could just feel it, deep inside. He grabbed his jacket from the workbench and headed up the stairs. He couldn't wait a minute longer. It was time to go back to the hospital. Now.

xxx

Owens stood in his grandmother's kitchen peering into the old box refrigerator. Where was that sliced turkey? Hard to make a sandwich without it. As he moved things around, his eye landed on a small box of vials. Frowning, he picked it up and read the label. Amoxicillin. Part of his grandmother's Lyme disease antibiotic regimen. The old woman had picked up Lyme disease while on a nature hike with some fellow seniors a couple of months ago. She was receiving a medication regimen via IV on a daily basis. She was improving slowly but surely for which he was deeply grateful. He started to return the box to its place when he hesitated. Amoxicillin. That was a form of penicillin, right? Something niggled the back of his mind. Something about penicillin. And a severe allergy. Then, slowly he smiled and lifted one of the small vials from the box. He stared at it for a long moment then slipped it into his pocket. He opened a nearby drawer and found a box of syringes. Perfect. He selected one and slipped it in beside the vial. He had just the use for these. Humming to himself, he pulled out the package of sliced turkey. Things were going even better than he'd hoped.

XXX

Gibbs's hands clenched the steering wheel of his truck, his knuckles white. He was caught in a traffic jam that seemed without end. Cars were at a virtual standstill, both on the highway and on the exits as drivers tried to desperately to escape to alternate routes. Gibbs was trapped and with every moment that passed, his anxiety rose. He reached into his pocket and yanked out his cell phone. He swore. No signal. He wanted to call Tony or Ziva. Tell them to get to the hospital and check on McGee, but it would seem the fates were against him. He swore again. He glanced over at the southbound lane. The traffic there was moving well. He set his jaw and began to work his way into the far left lane. He simply had to get off this highway. It seemed to take forever slowly edging his way into each new lane, but when he reached the left lane, he floored the accelerator and began racing across the wide, hilly median. The truck bounced and slid but never faltered until finally he was across. Turning a hard left, he sped onto the southbound lane just missing an oncoming SUV. He ignored the indignant driver's pounding horn. He had to find an alternate route to the hospital. He glanced at the luminous clock on the dash. It was taking too damn long. A trickle of sweat trailed down his back. He was more worried than he cared to admit, even to himself.

xxx

Owens frowned at the crowd of people milling about the ICU waiting room. It seemed they were everywhere. Many were weeping. Others were simply sitting with blank expressions on their faces. What the hell was going on here?

Owens approached a man sitting in a corner concentrating on a cell phone, his thumbs quickly flying across the surface of his phone's keyboard.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The man typed a second longer than looked up at Owens. He looked beat. "Yeah?"

"Do you know what's going on? Why are all these people here?"

The man looked past Owens at the crowd. "Bus accident. Bunch of people on a chartered bus headed up to Atlantic City. Not sure what happened, but there were lot of casualties and they sent a lot of them here. I heard there were like 50 people on the bus. Lot of them seniors."

Owens thanked the man then moved away to study the situation. People were lined up near the nurses' station desperate for information on injured friends and family. Owens smiled. This could definitely work to his advantage. With so many people here, no one would notice one more. And with an influx of new patients, the doctors and nurses would be far too busy to worry about a patient who'd been there awhile and presumably stable. For the moment anyway.

Owens moved closer to the entrance of the ICU. If anyone asked, he'd simply say he was McGee's brother but he didn't really anticipate any trouble. With any luck, he'd be in and out before anyone even knew he'd been there.

He reached his hand into his jacket pocket. He could feel the cool glass of the vial. He glanced around and spotted a sign towards the bathrooms. He'd fill his syringe in there. He wanted to be in and out of McGee's room as quickly as possible. It would be better to have everything ready to go before he entered the ICU.

Once inside the men's room, he slipped into an empty stall and firmly shut and latched the door. He pulled out the syringe and vial then quickly inserted the needle and drew the antibiotic into the syringe. He stared at the full syringe for a long moment. Could he really do this? Would it even work? He was working on an off-hand comment the admiral had made long ago about his son being severely allergic to penicillin. But how allergic? Hives allergic or anaphylactic shock allergic? Well, in his current fragile state, either one might be enough to push Tim McGee over the edge. Finally Owens took a deep breath and capping the needle, returned it to his pocket. It was worth a try if it would prevent the admiral from throwing away his career. He flushed the toilet, just in case anyone else was in the rest room, then quickly exited.

The waiting room was more packed than ever when Owens returned. He smiled to himself. Excellent. The more chaos the better. He wove his way through the crowd of distraught people to the door to the ICU. It should have been locked but when he gave it a gentle push, he realized it hadn't quite latched. Things couldn't be going better. He slipped through the door. A number of people were milling around in here as well. Extra medical personnel had been called in to help with the flood of new patients. A number of family members also seemed to be busy getting in the way. Owens looked up and saw a whiteboard with room numbers and names. He quickly picked out McGee on the list. Good, he hadn't been moved. Turning to the right, he made his way purposefully to his destination. No one stopped or questioned him. Everyone too busy to suspect he didn't belong. He couldn't have possibly planned this better.

Finally, he reached McGee's room. He peered through the window and could see McGee surrounded by wires, tubes and machines. He shuddered. He'd personally rather die than have to be like that. Really, he was doing McGee a favor. Putting him out of his misery so to speak.

"Can I help you?"

Owen's froze, his heartbeat soaring. He swallowed and then turned to see a nurse watching him expectantly.

"I'm Tim's brother," Owens lied. "I…I just heard about what happened. I hope it's okay that I'm here. Is he all right?"

The nurse glanced through the window at McGee's still form. "Well, he's stable at the moment. He's had a few scary moments since he was brought in, but right now, he's hanging in there. You can go in for a few minutes if you like."

Owens nodded his thanks then watched as the nurse hurried on his way. _Damn. _He had really been hoping no one would notice him. He didn't want anyone to even remember he'd been here. Well, it couldn't be helped. He touched the syringe again as if to reassure himself. From what he understood, it could take about an hour for a severe allergic reaction to kick in. That would give him plenty of time to get away from here and hopefully no one would associate him with Tim's abrupt decline.

He glanced up and down the hall one last time, took a deep breath and pushed open the door. It was time to get this done with.

xxx

A/N: Thanks so much for the kind words concerning my grandson. He and his twin sister were born 8.5 weeks early back in March and he is still having some breathing issues and anemia. Helping my daughter haul them from one doctor appointment to another has been taking up a lot of my time! But, I'm happy to report, both babies seem to be doing well now and hopefully we'll wean him off his monitors and supplemental oxygen soon. In the meantime, here is another chapter. Not a long one, but I hate to go too long without posting one. Makes me feel guilty! Thanks again for the support.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Owens approached the figure on the bed. The ICU was a noisy place. The sound of the respirator, monotonous beep of the monitors and the urgent voices out in the hallway hardly made for peaceful surroundings.

McGee's face was bone white, his eyes sunken like dark pits. Hardly even looked like him. The lower half his face was masked by the respirator and tape. His body and arms festooned with tubes and wires attached to various machines arrayed around the bed. Owens' gaze slid down to McGee's torso, heavily swathed in layers of bandages. Again Owens shuddered. This was probably his worst nightmare. Being bound to a bed, kept alive by machines. How could anyone live like this?

He looked at McGee's face again. He saw little of the admiral's strong features there. There was a time he'd actually felt sorry for the younger McGee; a certain amount of empathy. His own childhood hadn't been easy after his father left and started a new family, leaving him out in the cold. So, he could understand some of McGee's pain. However, that was before he became a threat. Owens would be damned if he'd be pushed out again. The admiral deserved so much more than weak, pathetic Timothy McGee. He deserved someone like Jason Owens.

Owens reached into his pocket and pulled out the syringe. He gripped it tightly, his mouth dry. He didn't have to do this. McGee could very well die on his own, but was he willing to take that chance? Owens lips formed a hard, straight line. No. He wasn't.

He moved close to the bed and lifted the sheet searching for a place to inject the medication. Grimacing, he bared just enough of McGee's hip and quickly jabbed the needle in, firmly injecting the amoxicillin. He yanked the needle out, a few drops of blood splattering on the snowy white of the sheet.

Owens was sweating freely now. Killing a man on the battlefield was easy compared to this. He quickly returned the bedclothes and stepped away. He suddenly noticed the syringe still gripped in his hand. He swept his gaze across the room and spotted a red medical waste container. What better place to get rid of evidence than in plain sight? Wiping down the surface of the syringe, he slipped it through the opening at the top of the waste container. Then wiping his hands on trousers he took a final look at Timothy McGee.

"Sorry, Tim. Really, I didn't want to do this, but you understand. I can't let the admiral give up everything he's worked so hard for. You'd just be a distraction. It's better this way. For all of us."

He laid a hand on Tim's arm then gasped. Tim's eyes were now open, not completely, but Owens could see them focus on his face. He went cold and stumbled back a step. Swallowing hard, he turned and fled from the room.

xxx

Gibbs roared into the hospital parking lot slamming on his brakes in front of the main entrance. It had taken far too long to get here. He flung open the door and leapt to the sidewalk flashing his badge at anyone who approached. He didn't have time for explanations.

He strode through the front door towards the elevator bank. As if on cue, the elevator door opened just as he approached. Still waving his badge, he pushed forward. The hospital seemed crammed full of people tonight. Far more than you would expect. He glanced at his watch as he punched the button for the 3rd floor but as the doors slid shut, he stiffened. Striding quickly towards the main entrance was Lt. Owens. _What the hell was he doing here? _Gibbs' gut tightened another notch.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone again. Finally. A signal. He hit a button and waited.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"DiNozzo, I'm at the hospital. I just saw Owens leave. Find him."

There was a moment of hesitation. "On it, Boss."

Gibbs snapped the phone shut._ God_, _I hope I'm not too late._

When the doors opened onto the third floor, Gibbs was faced by a mob of people. He heard someone mention a bus accident. Must have been what shut down the highway. He scanned the crowd looking for any of his team that might have returned early, but saw no one. Urged on by his increasing anxiety, he waded through a multitude of distraught people to finally reach the nurses' station.

Numerous agitated people were gathered around, clamoring for attention. The harried nurses tried to calm them. There were simply too many. Part of the problem was no one was sure which victims had been sent to which hospital and chaos was the result.

Gibbs pushed his way to the front ignoring the protests and angry words.

"Federal agent!" he barked, flashing his badge. Grudgingly, some of the people gave way.

An exhausted nurse barely glanced at him as she frantically typed information into a computer.

"One of my men is here," said Gibbs, his voice urgent. "I have reason to believe something may have happened to him. I need to see him. Now."

"I'm sorry, sir," replied the nurse never looking up, "But until things have settled down, no visitors are being allowed back here."

"Dammit, I am not here as a visitor! My agent may be in serious danger. I need to see him."

The nurse would not be swayed. She had been dealing with demanding, hysterical people all night and she'd heard it all.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I can't let you back here. I'm sure your agent is fine. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"No! I will not. If you don't let me in, I will go over there and shoot the lock off that goddam door."

The nurse's hands froze over the keyboard as her eyes snapped up to gape at Gibbs.

"I'm very serious." Gibbs leaned closer, his voice low. "There is something wrong. I need to see Timothy McGee. I am a federal agent and I don't have time for this bullshit."

The nurse swallowed and glanced backwards as if for backup, but the other medical personnel were all busy with the new patients. "Sir," she began slowly, "I am calling security. This is the intensive care unit and we have some seriously injured people that have just arrived. I cannot allow you back here. There are far too many people here as it is. I will send someone down to check on Mr. McGee as soon as I can."

Cursing, Gibbs saw no way to get past the desk itself. It was really just a window into the office space beyond. But, he knew he had to get back there. His gut was sounding an alarm so loud he was almost surprised the entire room couldn't hear it. He whirled and strode over to the door pulling his gun from its holster.

"Sir! Please step away from the door and drop the weapon."

Furious, Gibbs turned to see two armed security guards approaching. The people in the waiting room had grown silent, hurriedly backing up, away from the scene developing before them.

Slowly, Gibbs lowered his weapon as he held out his badge and ID. "I am NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. I have a seriously wounded agent back there who may have been the target of an attack. I need to see him and verify he is all right."

"Sir," said the burly guard on the right, moving close enough to snatch up Gibbs' weapon. "That does not give you the right to threaten to shoot people."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Honestly, where did they get these guys? "I did _not_ threaten to shoot anyone. I threatened to shoot the lock off this damn door. I'm telling you, my agent may be in serious trouble. I need to get in there _now!"_

Just then, the door behind Gibbs opened as a doctor stepped out looking for family members of one of his patients. Without hesitation, Gibbs shoved the man out of the way and ducked through the door. He'd had enough of this. McGee needed him now.

He ran down the hallway to McGee's room. The place was as crazy back here as it had been in the front. Patients were lined up on gurneys in the hallway as they awaited space. Doctors and nurses were swarming around them. Gibbs ignored all of this as he wove in and out of the scrubs-clad personnel. He could hear shouting behind him, but there was no time.

Finally, he reached his destination. He yanked open the door and darted in. He froze.

McGee's face was swollen and bright red. He seemed to be convulsing, his body rigid and shaking. Gibbs hesitated for only a moment. He turned back to the door.

"We need some help in here!"

A moment later he was at McGee's side. He grabbed onto his hand. "C'mon McGee, stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me!" McGee's eyes fluttered opened. Gibbs could see the pain and panic reflected there. Gibbs leaned forward trying to catch McGee's eye.

"McGee! Tim! Look at me!"

For the briefest moment, McGee's terrified gaze locked onto Gibbs'. Gibbs felt McGee's hand clench before his eyes rolled up and his body convulsed again.

Gibbs looked up briefly to see the two security guards burst into the room. The two men froze staring at McGee's flailing body. Alarms started going off and seconds later, several nurses and a doctor came pouring into the room shoving the guards out of the way. The two men quietly retreated back into the hall.

"Blood pressure is dropping!"

Gibbs kept his eyes glued on McGee's face, keeping a low but steady stream of words flowing, hoping something got through. He frowned. He could see multiple red welts forming on McGee's chest.

"Hives?"

The doctor's head snapped up from the machine he'd been studying. "What?"

Gibbs pointed. "Looks like hives."

The doctor's eyes widened. He turned to the nurse. "Epinephrine! Stat! He's in anaphylactic shock."

The heart monitor's alarm began to blare.

"We've lost his pulse."

"Blood pressure 50 over 20 and dropping."

A nurse slapped a syringe into the doctor's hand and he jabbed it into McGee's arm. A second nurse began CPR.

"C'mon, Tim. Don't give up!" Gibbs squeezed McGee's hand hard. The sound of his own heart beat loudly in his ears almost drowning out the sound of the alarms.

Gibbs was so focused on Tim he barely heard the call for a second round of epinephrine while the nurse continued CPR.

When the heart monitor alarm abruptly cut off, the silence was jarring. All heads turned to stare at the machine where the tracing of McGee's erratic heartbeat was now being recorded.

"He's back." The doctor placed a hand on the nurse's arm, signaling her to stop her efforts. She stepped back and pushed some loose hair from her moist brow.

They now turned their attention to McGee's face. The deep red was starting to fade. His body lay limp against the damp sheets. Again, his eyes fluttered open but this time Gibbs was there.

McGee's stared at him, his body going rigid with pain and fear. He was starting to fight the respirator. "Tim, it's okay," Gibbs voice was low and soothing. "You're gonna be fine now. Just relax, I'm here."

McGee blinked and gradually Gibbs felt his body relax. McGee's eyelids slowly dropped closed. Gibbs now looked up at the doctor.

The doctor was scowling down at McGee's chart shaking his head. "I don't understand it. He hasn't been given anything that would have caused an anaphylactic response."

Gibbs glanced back at McGee then up to the doctor. "I don't think it's anything you did. As I tried to tell them out there, I suspect someone was trying to kill Agent McGee."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Kill him? Why? I mean, his condition is so precarious, he may very well not make it as it is. God knows, this didn't help.

"That was probably the point. Push him over the edge." Gibbs paused as he listened to the hiss of the respirator. It killed him to think that they had left McGee defenseless. He had no doubt Lt. Owens was responsible. But, he still had to prove it. Seeing him walking across the lobby wasn't evidence enough to prove he'd attempted to kill McGee.

"How is he now?"

The doctor stepped closer and began to examine McGee. Gibbs continued to keep a hand on McGee, wanting him know he was still there.

Suddenly, Gibbs' phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and snapped it open. It was DiNozzo.

"Talk to me Tony."

"Boss, we got him. Ziva and I caught up with him near his apartment."

"You search him?"

"Yeah, we found a vial in his pocket." There was a slight pause. "It says amoxicillin. That important?"

"You just found the smoking gun, DiNozzo. Hold him."

Gibbs closed the phone. "The guy I told you about. I think he injected McGee with amoxicillin. I assume that would induce an anaphylactic reaction."

The doctor leafed through the file, nodding slowly. "I'll say. According to this, Agent McGee has a severe allergy to penicillin. That would be more than enough." He now looked directly at Gibbs. "Thank god you got here when you did. Even a couple of minutes later and I don't think we could have saved him. As it is, this may have set him back. His blood pressure is still dangerously low. We'll monitor his recovery from the anaphylaxis. He'll probably need more epinephrine. Sometimes people with severe allergies relapse later. If we don't catch it immediately, it'll probably kill him."

Gibbs eyed the doctor. "He won't be left alone again. Me or one of my agents will be with him at all times."

At first he thought the doctor was going to protest but after studying Gibbs for a moment, the doctor sighed and nodded. "All right. He would be dead now if not for you. I'll let the others know that you and your agents may come and go at will."

"I'll give you a list of approved personnel. No one else is allowed in to see him."

Again the doctor nodded as the nurses bustled around changing McGee's IV, checking the machines and examining his bandages. Finally, they seemed to agree McGee was stable for the moment and left.

Gibbs sat silently beside McGee. He took a deep breath and blew it out feeling the tension slide from his body. It had been too damn close. He picked up his phone. He needed to let DiNozzo know what was going on. They would charge Owens with attempted murder. He suddenly chuckled and shook his head. Admiral McGee would not be happy.

xxx

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Had to leave town again for a week (building a house out of state). Thanks for your patience.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Gibbs sat across the table staring at Lt. Owens. The younger man glared back defiantly.

"Why did you try to kill Agent McGee?"

"Who said I did?"

Gibbs's eyes narrowed. "A vial of amoxicillin was found in your pocket. Agent McGee is severely allergic to any form of penicillin. A single injection is enough to kill him."

"The amoxicillin belongs to my grandmother," replied Owens evenly. "She's being treated for Lyme disease. I did not inject any into Agent McGee. You guys are crazy."

There was a soft knock at the door. Gibbs stared at Owens for a long moment then stood to answer it. DiNozzo waited just outside.

"Boss, we cleaned out the medical waste container in McGee's room like you said. Abby found a partial print on the syringe. Looks like it's Owens' all right. She's testing the contents to verify the contents are amoxicillin. There was also some blood on the needle, and she's checking to see if it matches McGee's."

Gibbs nodded and glanced back at Owens who was watching them with a frown. Gibbs pulled the door shut. Suddenly, a loud voice could be heard booming down the hall.

"I don't give a damn if he's in interrogation with God himself, I want to see Lt. Owens now!"

"But sir!" Agent Dornegat's voice rose a notch in his desperation. "No one is allowed in during an interrogation! Especially not with Agent Gibbs! Please..."

But it was no use. Dornegat never had a chance. Admiral McGee strode purposefully down the hallway, his face dark with fury.

"You!" He thrust his finger in Gibbs' face. "You've had it out for Lt. Owens from the start. What the hell is going on here? Why is he under arrest? You better have a damn good reason for detaining him."

Gibbs's jaw tightened. "Admiral McGee, Lt. Owens is accused of attempted murder."

The admiral froze, then his expression grew even more thunderous. "What in god's name are you talking about Gibbs? Just who the hell did Jason allegedly attempt to kill?"

"Your son, Admiral. Agent Timothy McGee."

For a moment, the admiral said nothing, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Then he shook his head as he gathered himself.

"That is the most preposterous thing I've ever heard. What possible reason could Jason have for trying to kill Tim? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. I demand you release Lt. Owens immediately."

Gibbs' jaw tightened further. "We have evidence implicating Lt. Owens. He was positively identified by a nurse as being at McGee's room shortly before Tim went into anaphylactic shock. A vial of amoxicillin was found in Lt. Owens' possession when he was picked up and a partial finger print identified as Owens' was found on a syringe in McGee's room. What does that say to you?"

Admiral McGee glowered at Gibbs. "I don't believe it. I think he's being set up. It's the only answer. You've been against Jason all along. I have no idea why, but I do know he wouldn't murder anyone. He is an honorable naval officer."

"Let me ask you a question, Admiral." Gibbs cocked his to head to one side as he studied the man before him. "All I've heard so far is you defend Lt. Owens. Not once have you asked what exactly happened to your son or how he is. Who is more important to you? Your aide or your son?"

The color drained from Admiral McGee's face as he pulled himself erect. "Agent Gibbs, you are completely out of line. I have no more to say to you. If you refuse to release Lt. Owens, then I will be sending over the best defense lawyer I can find." He turned to face the closed door and shouted, "Jason! If you're in there, don't say a word. I'm getting you a lawyer." He gave Gibbs one last hostile look and strode back the way he'd come, a sheepish Dornegat struggled to keep pace.

Gibbs watched after him, Tony by his side. DiNozzo shook his head. "Guess some people never change. Poor McGee. I would have thought after taking a bullet for him, the admiral would have a little more compassion for Tim. Seems Owens is still top dog after all."

xxx

McGee's eyes fluttered open. The light was dim and the air carried the distinctive tang of medicinal alcohol. He lay very still for several moments trying to orient himself. He shifted and winced in pain. His hand reached up to his chest and he was startled to find his torso firmly wrapped in layers of bandages. He frowned as he tried to remember how he might have gotten here. Suddenly he inhaled sharply as he clearly recalled the explosive shock of the bullet smashing into his chest. It was if he'd been stabbed with a spike of red hot iron. A cold sweat broke out across his brow. He raised a shaking hand to wipe it away. But there was more. Something about his father.

The bullet had been meant for the admiral, but Tim had put himself in the path of the deadly projectile saving his father from possible death. But, there was something his father had said. Tim frowned trying hard to remember. Then it hit him.

_As far as I'm concerned, I have no son._

Those were the last words he remembered hearing before he collapsed. His father had disowned him; wanted no part of him ever again. Tim felt numb. Why should the fact he was willing to sacrifice his own life to save his father's make any difference?

"Tim?"

Tim turned his head towards the voice. He tried to speak but his throat felt like he'd been gargling with broken glass. He grimaced in pain.

Gibbs rose from the chair and moved closer placing a hand on McGee's shoulder. "It's okay, Tim. I'm here. Don't try to talk. The swelling in your throat finally went down enough to let them remove the respirator tube this morning."

Tim closed his eyes. He had a vague, nightmarish image of a tube down his throat strangling him. He touched his throat. He frowned, trying to remember. _How long have I been here?_

"You've been here six days, Tim."

McGee's eyes flew open. _Six days? How could that be?_ His frown deepened as something tugged at his brain.

Something more had happened. It was more like a dream then a memory. There was pain. He imagined seeing Lt. Owens standing beside his bed. He'd said something. Tim desperately grasped at the fleeting threads of his memories only to have them silently slip away.

He turned to eyes once more to find Gibbs beside his bed watching him carefully. Tim allowed his gaze to sweep the small room. No sign of any of his family. No sign of his father.

Gibbs seemed to understand who Tim was looking for. "No, your father isn't here. He came by the day you were shot, but hasn't been by since. He's been…busy. "

Tim grunted and shook his head. No more than he'd expected. Actually, he should be grateful his father had come by at all.

"Your grandmother, mother, and sister are on their way. They got stuck in Japan by some severe weather and were finally able to leave early this morning. However, I've spoken to your grandmother pretty much every day giving her updates."

Tim smiled softly. Penny must be going nuts. He missed them all a lot.

"Tony, Ziva and the others have all been taking turns staying with you after…well, Tim, there's something I need to tell you."

McGee raised his gaze to meet Gibbs'. The boss was frowning. "Tim, Lt. Owens tried to kill you."

Tim's eyes went wide as the image of Owens standing over him flashed through his mind again. Now he could hear Owens' words: _I didn't want to do this, but you understand. I can't let the admiral give up everything he's worked so hard for. You'd just be a distraction. It's better this way. For all of us._

Owens wanted Tim dead. He wanted the admiral to himself. He believed _he_ was the son Admiral McGee deserved, not Tim. It was all starting to make a twisted sort of sense.

"He injected you with amoxicillin," continued Gibbs. "You went into severe anaphylactic shock. It's been a rocky six days. But, you'll be okay."

"I…saw…him," rasped Tim, barely able to get the words past his inflamed throat.

Gibbs leaned forward. "Who?"

"Owens." Tim swallowed painfully. Gibbs reached over, snagging a water bottle and gently squirted some water into McGee's mouth. Tim nodded gratefully. "Said…better for everyone."

"You actually _saw_ Lt. Owens here? In your room?"

McGee nodded again. He closed his eyes. He was suddenly so exhausted. It was all too much. In a moment, he was asleep.

When he next awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed. The room looked exactly as it had before. There were no windows so he didn't know if were day or night. He moved carefully and gasped. The pain was still there. _Guess it hasn't been long enough._

"Hey McGeek, you awake?"

Tim smiled and turned to see Tony getting to his feet, a broad grin plastered across his partner's face.

"Been waiting all week for you to quit slacking off, leaving me with all the grunt work." He handed Tim a small electronic tablet. "The boss said you can't talk yet, so Abby sent this. Figured it would be easier for you to type whatever you need to say."

Tim studied the tablet for a moment then switched it on. His fingers flew over the keyboard. "Tell Abby thanks."

"Will do, amigo." Tony's face grew serious. "We were all pretty worried about you, Tim. You gave us quite a scare. How you feeling now?"

Tim shrugged and waggled his hand back and forth. Then he typed a message.

"What's going on with Owens?"

Tony grimaced then took a deep breath. "We have all the evidence we need. A nurse saw him here right before you went into shock, we have a syringe with traces of amoxicillin and Owens' partial fingerprint as well as your blood; he had a vial of amoxicillin in his pocket and then Gibbs said you saw him here. Although, given your condition, I don't imagine your testimony would hold much weight."

"Does my father know?"

Tony's gaze slid away as he ran a hand through his hair. Tim could feel his partner's discomfort. Finally Tony sighed and nodded. "Yeah, he knows. Claims it was all a set-up; that Owens is an upstanding naval officer, would never in a million years commit murder, blah, blah, blah."

_No, he wouldn't want to accept his golden boy could possibly do anything wrong, _thought Tim in disgust. Despite everything that had happened, it seemed his father was still far more concerned about keeping his aide out of prison than making sure his son was okay.

"I'm really sorry, Tim. You deserve better."

Tim shrugged and gave his partner a half-hearted grin. He tried so hard not to care but it seemed every slight his father committed hurt just as much.

As if to dispel Tim's dark thoughts, Tony began to fill Tim in on all the goings on at NCIS. Tim pretended to listen, grateful for even a small distraction. After awhile, the nurse came in to take his vitals, change his IV, and perform other medical necessities.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," said Tony looking uncomfortable as the nurse began filling a syringe. "Gonna go find some coffee."

Tim nodded and watched him go. He felt oddly abandoned.

"It's good to see you awake, Agent McGee," smiled the nurse, a short middle-aged woman with warm brown eyes. "Pretty soon we'll be able to move you to a regular room. And don't worry, your throat will be feeling better soon."

Tim nodded again. He felt himself begin to drift off again. Would he ever be able to stay awake longer than ten minutes? Gradually the sounds of the nurse faded away.

He wasn't sure was woke him, but Tim found himself startled awake. He didn't really feel as if he'd been asleep very long.

He shifted his gaze to corner. There was a figure there. Tim smiled. Looked like Tony had returned. Tim suddenly stiffened. It wasn't Tony at all.

xxx

A/N: As promised, a more timely update! Thanks for all the reviews. The house is coming along nicely. Hopefully I won't have to leave town again for awhile. Again, I appreciate all you wonderful readers!


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Hello, son."

Tim's breath caught as his stomach clenched painfully. He swallowed. "Dad?" His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

The admiral stood and moved to Tim's bedside. "Yes, Tim. It's me. They told me you were awake, so I came right over."

Resentment instantly bubbled up inside McGee as he tightly gripped the sheet in his hand. _Unlike my team who've been here all along. _He glanced towards the door, Where was Tony?

"Tim, I've been so worried. How are you feeling?"

Tim simply shrugged, refusing to meet his father's eyes.

The admiral cleared his throat breaking the awkward silence. "Tim, I'm not really sure where to begin. You took a bullet for me. You were willing to sacrifice your life for mine. Even after the way I've treated you lately. I've misjudged you very badly. You are a son to be proud of."

Tim remained silent; his mind was whirling. Wasn't this what he'd wanted to hear all his life? That his dad was actually _proud_ of him? But now, it felt hollow and meaningless. _I had to almost die to gain his respect. What kind of father wants that?_

"I hope you can forgive me, Tim, for being such a jackass. I'll admit I was hurt when you rejected the Naval Academy. It was like you rejected me. I never told you this, but it wasn't until I went to the Academy that my father and I finally bonded. The Navy did that. I wanted that same experience with you."

This was something his father had never revealed to him before. Tim frowned, clutching the bunched up sheet even tighter. But did it really make a difference? Why couldn't his father simply accept him for who he was? He wasn't anything like his father or grandfather or all those other seafaring McGee's. His father would rather reject him out of hand than try and find some other way to bond with his only son.

His father plowed ahead, apparently accepting Tim's silence as approval. "You're a good man, Tim, and I see that now. I wish I could take back all those things I've said about you in the past. I just, well, I just didn't understand you. The Navy I understood, but you were a total mystery to me. I'd like to think we can put those bad memories behind us and start fresh. What do you say? I know it would make your mother and grandmother ecstatic to think we'd worked everything out." His father gave him a hopeful grin.

Tim lifted his eyes to gape at the admiral. Did his father honestly think this little speech would make up for the years of bullying, verbal abuse, and humiliation? An image of himself lying trussed up on the floor of the safe house flashed through his mind. His father did that. His father had openly admitted to Gibbs, that as far as he was concerned, he had no son. And a simple apology was supposed to erase that? And when Tim thought about it, there actually hadn't been any apology at all. Just a request for him to forgive his father and feeble justifications for his behavior. Tim's anger rose.

"No."

His father blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no." Tim ignored the pain both in his throat and his body as he pushed himself up against the pillows.

"Son, I don't think you understand. I want to fix things between us before it's too late."

"It's already too late, Dad." Tim grimaced in frustration as his voice gave out. He snatched up the tablet and began typing furiously. Finally he thrust the tablet into his father's hands.

Surprised, the admiral began to read aloud. "_Dad,_ _I tried all my life to please you and make you proud. You ignored and belittled me in return. No matter what I did, it was never good enough. When I told you I wasn't going into the Navy, you pretty much cut me out of your life completely. I had to take a bullet for you to finally get your attention. Now suddenly you're proud of me? My accomplishments in school and at NCIS weren't enough? Now I hear you're intent on proving Owens is innocent of trying to kill me. He was _here_. I _saw_ him. He told me I would be a distraction and he wasn't going to let you give up your career for me. And yet, he means more to you than I do. I'm sorry Dad, I will always love you, but I'm through trying to make you a part of my life._"

The admiral's voice trailed off as he scowled at the writing on the tablet. He raised his gaze to meet Tim's. "Surely you can't mean this, Tim. It's the meds talking. I've been an idiot. I freely admit that. And yes, I have been supporting Jason. I've mentored him for years and I simply cannot believe he would kill you. What purpose would that serve?"

Impatiently, Tim held out his hand for the tablet, typed quickly, and handed it back.

"_Then he could have you all to himself without any competition from me." _The admiral stared long and hard at the words before him. Then he shook his head.

"I refuse to believe anything so ridiculous. Jason is a good man. An honest man and until he tells me face to face that he attempted to actually _kill_ you, I refuse to believe it." The admiral sighed. "And yes, Jason has been like a son to me in many ways. But, he isn't my flesh and blood. He can't replace _you_, Tim."

Tim slowly let himself collapse back against the pillows, the exhaustion already seeping back into his bones, his anger spent. "He already has."

Tim's head turned as the door suddenly opened and Gibbs and Tony entered carrying large cups of coffee. The men came to an abrupt halt studying the scene before them.

"What are you doing here, Admiral?" demanded Gibbs taking a step forward. "I gave the front desk a specific list of approved visitors and you sure as hell aren't on it."

The admiral drew himself up and regarded Gibbs coldly. "Tim is _my_ son. I am entitled to visit him whenever I wish."

"Admiral, after the way you've been treating Tim, you gave up any right to your son long ago. I'm going to have to ask you leave." Gibbs' voice was hard.

"It's not up to you, Gibbs." The admiral's voice was even harder. He turned to McGee. "It's up to Tim." He took a step forward and placed a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Tim, please. Give me another chance. You're my son and I love you. This is something we both want."

Tim stiffened under the admiral's touch. Did he? After so much abuse, did he truly want to forgive and forget? His grandmother had assured Tim that his father truly did love him. Yet, up until this moment, the admiral had given little indication that that was true. Tim almost laughed as a thought occurred to him. Just how would it look if the admiral's own aide was convicted of attempting to kill the admiral's son and then the son rejected his father? Didn't say a whole lot of positive things about the admiral's judge of character.

Tim rubbed his brow. His head ached. He noticed his hands were starting to shake. He gripped them firmly together. How he wished all of this would just go away. If the admiral had come to him earlier, before all this went down, Tim would have welcomed his father with open arms. But now? It was too little, too late. He sighed and his weary gaze met his father's hopeful one.

"Good-bye, Dad."

The admiral blinked, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Tim, you don't mean that. I'm your _father_, dammit! You can't just cast me aside."

"Like you did me?" With a surge of anger, Tim pushed himself back up ignoring the sharp stab of pain and the increasingly frantic beeping of his monitors. His voice was rough but this had to be said. "You threw me to the side, Dad. You left me tied up. It didn't matter to you that even though I was tortured, I never revealed the location of the safe house. I put my life on the line for you. What have you ever done for me besides ridicule and criticize me? Nothing I've ever done has ever been good enough for you. All I wanted was for you to love me and I wasn't even good enough for that. So now, I'm done."

Suddenly, McGee gasped and doubled over, his face going a ghastly gray. The alarms began to wail. Gibbs and Tony pushed the admiral aside and eased McGee back against the pillows. A moment later the doctor and a couple of nurses hurried in and shooed them all outside, firmly closing the door and pulling the drapes.

The three men stood silently outside the door, shocked at the sudden turn of events.

The admiral stared at the door in mute appeal. Then laid a hand on it. "Please be all right."

The words were barely above a whisper, but Gibbs heard them clearly enough. He really didn't get this guy. At this moment, Admiral McGee looked like any loving father, desperate for his child to be all right, but all his previous behavior indicated he could not have cared less about his only son. Even now, he refused to believe his aide could be guilty of attempting to murder Tim.

Gibbs turned to the admiral. "You know why he did it, don't you? Owens, I mean?"

Tony and the admiral both turned to look at Gibbs in surprise.

"I don't know what you mean," replied Admiral McGee, his face set.

"Owens was jealous. He figured if Tim was back in your good graces, he was going to be the odd man out. So, after McGee saved your life, Owens believed the only way to protect his position was to get rid of Tim. It's like the cuckoo bird. Kick the competition out of the nest."

"Agent Gibbs, do you honestly believe a grown man, a decorated officer in the United States Navy no less, attempted to commit murder because he wanted a _father figure_?" Admiral McGee's voice was incredulous as he turned to stare at Gibbs. "Lt. Owens has a father. He doesn't need me."

"Word is," put in Tony, "Owens' father left him and his mother to marry somebody else when Owens was a kid, and started a new family. Sounds to me like Owens' old man might not have been prime father material. And believe me, I understand about less than prime fathers."

The admiral scowled at DiNozzo. "Where do you get this crap? Dr. Phil?"

Despite the admiral's harsh tone, Gibbs detected just a small element of doubt.

"Anyway, _Tim_ is my son. And despite what everyone seems to think, I love him. Maybe I'm not all touch-feely like some of you people, but I do love him and want what's best."

"You got a funny way of showing it," muttered Tony.

The admiral took a step towards Tony, his face darkening, when the door opened. Everyone froze and turned to stare.

The doctor came out and frowned. The tension in the air was thick. "Is everything all right out here?"

"Yes." Gibbs pushed forward. "How's Tim?"

The doctor gave them all another uneasy glance before answering. "He'll be all right. He got overexcited and his body reacted. He just needs rest and lots of peace and quiet." He now looked pointedly at each and every one of them. "No one is allowed in for the rest of the night. I've given him a sedative. Agent Gibbs, you are free to stay outside the room, but tonight, I want Agent McGee to be left alone."

"But…" the admiral began, his face turning red.

"_No one,_ Admiral, is allowed in tonight," snapped the doctor glaring at him. "You people have done enough damage as it is. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He turned and headed down the hall.

Gibbs looked at Tony. "I'll stay. Ziva will be here in a few hours for her shift."

Tony opened his mouth, then shrugged. "Right, Boss, if you're sure."

"I am."

Tony nodded, glanced at the admiral, then headed towards the elevators.

The admiral stood awkwardly for a few moments, obviously undecided. Then he looked at his watch. "I better get to the airport. My mother and the others will be here soon."

A moment later, he too was gone.

Gibbs grabbed an empty chair from behind a nearby desk and settled into it. He sipped his coffee as he listened to the background noises of the hospital. He could hear the nurses quietly talking in McGee's room.

He thought about Tim and his father. He wished there was some way he could change things between them. It was very clear where Tim's insecurities and need for approval came from. Gibbs felt that over the years at NCIS, Tim had made some huge strides in those areas. He was proud of him. Then Admiral McGee reentered the picture and it was if those years never happened. Gibbs wondered what would happen once Tim recovered and returned to NCIS. Would he be able to pick up where he'd left off, or would the damage inflicted by his father cause Tim to regress? The fact that he'd essentially thrown his father out was a promising sign, but things were rarely so easy.

Gibbs sighed and leaned back, resting his head against the wall, comforted by the warmth of the coffee cup in his hand. He was deeply worried about McGee and his future, but for now, all he could do was wait.


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

Admiral McGee pulled into his garage and turned off the engine. He sighed deeply and leaned his head back against the headrest as he listened to the deep thrum of the garage door closing. What a nightmare this had all turned out to be. He pulled the key out of the ignition, opened the door and slid out. He felt a hundred years old. Maybe it was time to start thinking about retiring.

He'd lied to Gibbs about going to the airport. In fact, he really had no idea when his mother, daughter and ex-wife would be arriving from Japan. He just needed an excuse to leave so he could think. Nothing about this day had gone right.

He plodded into the condo dropping the keys on the kitchen counter and flicked on the light. Damn. He needed a drink. He turned and headed to his study, the small desk light he always left on created a welcoming glow.

He strode over to the antique sideboard next to the fireplace and picked up a glass. Examining the array of liquor bottles before him, he finally picked up a bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon and splashed a couple of fingers into the glass. He downed it in one gulp.

"Hello, John."

Choking in surprise, the admiral dropped the glass onto the marble hearth where it shattered with a crash. Still coughing, the admiral whirled to glare at the figure sitting in the chair behind his desk.

"Goddam it, Mother! What the hell are you doing here? Trying to kill me?"

"Maybe," replied Penny evenly. "Depends on what you have to say."

The admiral stooped down and began to pick up the pieces of shattered glass. Dropping them into the trash, he grabbed the bottle and filled a second glass before turning to face his mother.

"Say about what?"

Penny Langston was gray with exhaustion. It had taken close to thirty hours for them to get back from Japan and it showed. "I want to talk about what's going on with Timothy."

The admiral sighed and settled down into the deep leather chair across from the desk. "Of course you do. What do you want to know?"

"I had a long conversation with Miss Abby Sciuto this evening and she told me some rather disturbing things."

"Who?"

Penny rolled her eyes. "Abby Sciuto. Works with Timothy at NCIS. A forensic scientist. Very talented young woman."

The admiral took a sip of his bourbon and waved her on. "Whatever. Go on."

Penny pursed her lips then forged ahead. "When Agent Gibbs called me in Japan, he told me Tim had been shot while protecting you. And that's true, correct?"

"Yes."

Penny was silent for a moment as if digesting this information. She drummed her fingers on the desk. "All right, I understand that's part of his job, although I can't imagine NCIS assigning someone to protect their own father." Penny paused to rub her bloodshot eyes. "But I digress. When I heard that, I was so very proud of him. Once I got over the shock, of course. That he would put himself in harm's way for his father, and then I thought perhaps now things would change between the two of you. But then, she told me about some things that had happened prior to that."

The admiral said nothing. He knew where this was going and he knew his mother. Until she got it out of her system, nothing he said would have any impact.

"She told me that NCIS put you in a safe house to protect you from some nutjobs that were trying to kill you. But these guys kidnapped Tim when he interrupted them planting a bomb on your car, then they _tortured_ him to find out where you were. Is _all_ of that true?"

"Yes."

"John!" Penny leapt to her feet and slammed her hands on the desk. "Your son was _tortured_ and that's all you can say?"

"What can I say? I didn't know about any of that until much later. Tim insisted they not tell me. So, don't blame me for that." He gulped down more of his drink as he glared at the woman across the room.

Penny began to pace, a sure sign she was really upset. "Abby said that despite being tortured, he never revealed the location of the safe house. So he sacrificed himself for you more than once during this whole fiasco."

The admiral opened his mouth but Penny abruptly held up her hand.

"No. Wait. I haven't gotten to the good part yet." Penny walked around the desk until she stood before her son, her folded across her chest, dark eyes flashing. "Then I hear that these killers arrived at that safe house with Timothy tied up, using him as a hostage, but when help arrives, you left your own son lying on the floor still tied up! Is _that _true?"

The admiral drained his glass. His mouth twitched as he studied the empty tumbler. "Like I said before, I didn't know he'd been tortured until much later. Tim didn't want me to know." He looked up her and scowled. "And dammit, I thought he'd led them straight to me. That after a few threats, he'd caved in and told them everything he knew. I didn't see a mark on him. How was I to know he had a bunch of broken ribs and a concussion? Or that they'd planted a tracking device on him?" The admiral's voice rose to an angry crescendo. "I made mistakes, okay? But I love my son!"

"Bullshit." Penny's voice was cold. "If you really loved Tim, he wouldn't have had to take a bullet in his chest to get you to admit it. And what's this I hear about your aide, Lt. Owens? Abby told me he tried to kill Timothy with an injection of amoxicillin."

The admiral got to his feet and stalked over to his bar to refill his glass. "She's quite the Chatty Cathy, isn't she, this Abby Sciuto?" He turned back to Penny. "And as far as Owens trying to kill Tim, I don't believe it. Jason is a good man. I've mentored him for years. All that father-figure crap Gibbs and his bunch keep spouting is just a load of bullshit. There is no compelling reason for Jason to try to kill Tim. It simply doesn't make sense."

"So we're talking about Jason Owens, that same little smarmy assistant you've had for the past few years, right?"

The admiral glared at her. "He is not 'smarmy', whatever the hell that means. He's been a tremendous asset to my staff. He's hardworking, loyal, and has a good head on his shoulders."

With a lift of her eyebrow, Penny shook her head. "You're kidding right? That kid is the biggest brown-noser I've ever seen, and believe me, after all those years married to your father, I've seen a lot. Guys like him weasel their way into staff positions in the hopes of furthering their careers. This guy is using you to help him advance."

Admiral McGee laughed. "Of course he is! Everyone in the military is looking for ways to advance their career. It's the way of the world, Mother. But wanting to get ahead does not make one a murderer."

"No, but jealously can." Penny stepped closer to her son, her eyes narrowed. "John, you have a strong personality. In an admiral, that's a good thing. As a father, it can be a problem. I understand Lt. Owens' own father abandoned him when his parents divorced. Owens looks up to you not only as a mentor but as a father figure. I've seen it with my own eyes. When Tim saved your life, I'm sure Owens suddenly saw him as a threat to his relationship to you."

"Oh for the love of…not you too!" The admiral slammed his glass down, spilling a generous portion of his drink across the aged cherry of the sideboard. He pulled himself erect and faced his mother directly. "Why is everyone so goddamned convinced Jason tried to kill Tim? You answer me that. Is it to hurt me? Okay, I'll admit it. I've been the worst father on earth when it comes to Tim. I screwed up royally. There? Are you happy? But why does Jason have to suffer for my mistakes?"

"Because this was _his_ mistake, not yours, John. And why are you so determined to ignore the evidence in front of you and declare him innocent? His fingerprint is on the syringe with Tim's blood on the needle. He had the vial of amoxicillin in his pocket. He was seen by the nurse and by your own son! I understand that he even spoke to Tim, telling him it was better this way and that he would just be a distraction. The man is _guilty_, John, but you're rather believe him than a mountain of evidence. I want to know why."

The admiral ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. Why indeed? He was willing to believe Tim led those killers to him without a single shred of evidence, yet when presented with a pile of compelling facts, he refused to even consider the possibility that Jason Owens had tried to kill Tim. Why?

"Are you so afraid of being wrong, that you will continue to stand up for a killer and deny your own son?"

Admiral McGee lifted his troubled gaze to meet the unforgiving one of his mother.

"You are a hard man, John McGee, much like your father. But he was also a compassionate man. Never in his entire life would he have ever treated you like you've treated Tim. You are so focused on your own version of success that you can't even begin to consider there might be others." Penny studied her son as if looking for answers he had deeply hidden.

"I love you, John, but I can't believe you are the son I raised. Family comes first. Or it should. I know you believe the Navy is your family, but we are too. Where will you be when the Navy finally puts you out to pasture? You'll just be one more old admiral with boring sea stories that no one wants to hear. You _need_ your family. You still have a chance to repair things with your children. It's not too late."

Admiral McGee gave a bitter laugh. "I think you may be wrong there, Mother. I tried to apologize, but Tim informed me, in no uncertain terms I might add, that he wanted me gone."

"Do you blame him?"

There was a long moment of silence as the admiral stared into the deep amber of the bourbon. "No."

"It's going to take more than a simple apology to repair this, John. Besides, if I know you, I doubt the word 'sorry' was ever even mentioned."

The admiral could feel his face go warm. She knew him all too well.

Penny sighed. "This is going to take a lot of time and effort on your part to win Timothy back. All he ever wanted was your love and respect, the two things you refused to give him. He idolized you as a child but you constantly rejected him. Frankly, I think you're lucky he didn't just hand you over to those killers or shoot you himself. You certainly deserved it."

"All right Mother, that's enough," snapped Admiral McGee, with growing irritation. "I've admitted I've made some serious mistakes. Tim will come around eventually. Family is too important to him. In the meantime, I've got to decide what to do about Jason."

"You'll do nothing." Penny poured herself a glass of the bourbon. "Let the court decide his innocence or guilt."

"I've already found him a lawyer."

Penny sipped her bourbon. "Then let that be the end of it. That fact your own aide is accused of attempted murder isn't going to do your career any good. Add that to the fact it was your own son he tried to kill, you need to step way back."

"But I don't believe he's guilty!" The admiral began to pace the room. "I can't just abandon him."

"But you'll abandon your son?" demanded Penny, her voice rising. "Goddam it John, what the hell is wrong with you? Quit being such an idiot and open your eyes! The man is _guilty_!" She gulped down her drink and slammed the glass down beside her son's. "But, I'm warning you, if you openly support Owens and forsake Timothy, your family will be lost to you for good."

Then, without another word, Penny turned on her heel and stalked from the room. A moment later slam of the front door echoed through the condo.

Admiral McGee stood staring after her long after she'd disappeared, then slowly he sank into his leather chair and with a deep sigh, buried his head in his hands.


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

Three months had passed since Tim McGee was rushed to the hospital, his body shattered by a killer's bullet. Two more days and he'd be going back to work at NCIS. Tim whistled as he locked his car door. He'd spent the afternoon at the gym working to regain his strength. First there had been weeks of physical therapy and now he was working with a personal trainer. The goal was to get him up to speed without over doing it. So far, he was happy with his progress.

As he started up the front steps of his building, he heard a car pull into one of the nearby parking spaces. Quickly, he turned his head, his heart skipping a beat. After everything he'd been through, he was still a little jumpy.

"Timothy! Sweetheart! I'm so glad I caught you!"

McGee relaxed. He paused by the building door and smiled as his grandmother, Penny, hurried up to meet him, a plastic container in her hands.

"I brought you some of those wonderful wheat grass bars I know you enjoy so much," she announced waving the plastic container. They're so good for keeping your bowels regular."

Tim winced at both the bowel comment and the thought of eating those awful bars. He just didn't have the heart to tell her how revolting they really were. He smiled gamely as he took the proffered box.

"Thanks, Penny."

Penny stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "You look better every time I see you, Timothy. You're finally beginning to lose that sickly look. Getting some color back in those cheeks." She eyed him critically. "Still need to put on some more weight though." Then she smiled as she hooked her arm through his and followed him up to his apartment.

"I told your mother I would keep an eye on you, and I meant it."

Tim smiled again as he unlocked his apartment door. "It was really great seeing Mom and Sarah. I've missed them."

"You need to take more time off, sweetheart. Spend more time with your family."

Tim paused as he set the box of wheat grass bars on the kitchen counter. An image of his father flashed through his mind.

"Including Dad?" He immediately regretted his words.

Penny hesitated, then sighed. "I am sorry, Timothy."

Tim gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged. "It's not your fault, Penny. I'll just never measure up to his standards. I've come to accept that. Besides I've got you, and Mom, and Sarah."

Penny looked away for a moment then hurried over to him and embraced him in a firm hug. "You'll always have us, Tim." Her voice was rough with emotion.

He hugged her back as hard as he could. He loved her more than mere words could ever express. She was his rock. He never would have gotten through any of this without her. He finally stepped away, lowering his gaze so she wouldn't see the tears.

"Well, are you excited about returning to work?" Penny broke the awkward silence as she moved into the living room and sat on the small sofa.

Tim leaned against his desk. "Yeah, I really am. I think my brain has started to turn to mush after being gone for so long." He frowned. "I hope I don't screw up too much."

"Oh Timothy," Penny shaking her head. "That's your father talking. You put those ideas out of your head right now. Your team has nothing but wonderful things to say about you. Although, maybe I should have another talk with that Tony DiNozzo…" She leered and winked.

Tim laughed softly. But he _was_ worried. Between his convalescence after his kidnapping, his suspension, and recovering from the gunshot wound, it seemed like years since he'd spent any time at NCIS. He wondered more than once if they really even needed him back. Surely after all this time they'd found someone to replace him. He felt his stomach begin to knot.

"Timothy! Stop that!"

Tim blinked and looked up to see Penny glaring at him.

"I know exactly what you're thinking. They have not replaced you at NCIS so don't even go there."

"But…how…" Tim's frown deepened.

"Oh sweetheart," Penny sighed. "You are just so predictable. You still don't think you're good enough no matter how many times you prove yourself."

Tim felt his face grow warm.

Penny stood and put her arm around Tim. A warm sense of security radiated through his body.

"Your father has hurt you far more than I ever imagined. And I'm not just talking about now. I'm talking about when you were growing up. I hoped I'd managed to shield you from most of it, but obviously I failed."

"No, Penny…it's just me…"

"No!" snapped Penny fiercely turning him to face her. "It is most definitely is _not_ you. That's what you've been told all your life by your dad and it isn't true now and it wasn't true then. I tried so hard to encourage you while your father systematically destroyed your self-confidence, but I can see I didn't try hard enough."

"Maybe I should have just gone to the Naval Academy," began Tim with a sigh. Then he stopped. _Damn it Tim, you're doing it again. _

"You weren't cut out for the Academy," replied Penny angrily. "_You_ know that, _I_ know that, _everyone_ knew that. Except for your father. He just couldn't accept the fact that your strengths were more intellectual than physical. But sweetheart, let it go. You have a wonderful team at NCIS. Believe me, they care as much for you as your mother or Sarah or even me. That Gibbs was a regular Rottweiler, protecting you in the hospital. They were all so worried about you. Still are."

Penny paused. She bit her lip and began to fidget with the copper bracelet encircling her wrist. "Tim, there's something more I need to tell you."

There was a long silence. Tim watched her expectantly, his stomach tightening again. He knew that look and it never boded well.

Penny cleared her throat. "I've still got a few well-placed contacts in the navy, even after all these years. Well, they tell me that although your dad isn't saying anything in public, he's…well, he's still doing all he can for Lt. Owens behind the scenes."

Tim stiffened and closed his eyes. Of course Dad would support Owens. He steadfastly refused to believe Owens would try to kill Tim for something as trifling as mere jealousy. McGee ran a hand over his face. He wasn't surprised. Not really. After his father had spent years putting Owens on a pedestal, regaling his colleagues with the younger man's accomplishments and outstanding abilities, he would have looked like a fool to admit he'd been wrong. But still…there'd been a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, Dad would choose him for once.

Finally Tim raised his troubled gaze to meet his grandmother's.

"Why wasn't I ever good enough? Would going to the Academy really have changed everything? You and I both know I wouldn't have lasted a week. But, if I had gone and washed out, would that have made him happier? At least I would have tried."

Penny opened her mouth to replay, but Tim wasn't really listening.

"I loved him more than anything. I just wanted him to love me back. To be proud of me. I did everything I knew how to get him to notice me. But nothing worked. My accomplishments have never made any difference to him. I mean, Dad went to Sarah's graduation from Waverly. He even went to cousin Jerry's graduation from the Academy and he had to fly home from Philippines to make that. But he was much too busy to come to my graduation from MIT, and I was even the class speaker." Tim swallowed and moved to the window.

"Then, the next thing I know, I've been replaced entirely by some Navy SEAL. Owens was the perfect son. Someone I could never be."

Tim's heartbeat began to pound in his ears. He whirled to face Penny, his pain almost more than he could bear.

"Why?" The small word practically choked him.

"Oh, Timothy…"

As Tim turned away, his gaze fell on the nearby bookshelves. He frowned for a moment then slowly reached out and picked up a small framed photo. He stared at it, clearly remembering the moment it was taken. It was his tenth birthday. The one and only birthday he remembered his father attending. His father had his arm around him and was smiling down him. It was the only such memory Tim had. With a cry of fury he hurled the photo across the room where it smashed against the far wall with wrenching crash of shattering glass.

Penny stared at Tim, her eyes wide. "Timothy…"

He stopped her with a stony gaze. "I'm done, Penny. Please don't mention him to me again. As far as I'm concerned, I have no father."

He glanced at the broken photo, swallowed, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. It was over.

**EPILOGUE**

At long last, McGee was back behind his desk at NCIS. It was a good day. He hummed softly as he performed a computer search of a suspect's financial records, not caring how mundane the task was. He was back.

"Agent McGee, welcome home. How are you doing?"

Tim looked up to see Director Vance standing before his desk his face wreathed in a welcoming smile.

Tim grinned. "Never better, sir. It feels wonderful to be back, even if it is just on desk duty."

"Well, it won't be long before you'll be back in the field. But speaking from experience, don't push it too hard or you may regret it."

McGee nodded. Right now, he was perfectly content just to be back where he belonged.

The director hesitated. No one else was around. The rest of the team was off investigating a new case. "Tim, I'm really sorry about how things turned out with your father. I can't believe he chose to support Owens."

Tim shrugged, his eyes glued to the computer screen. His throat tightened. "It doesn't matter. The navy will always come first to him. I just have to accept that and move on." But deep inside, the pain was there, an open wound that would never heal. Tim clamped down hard on that thought and pushed it away. _I have no father._

Director Vance regarded him for several long moments then cleared his throat. "Well, I'm just glad you're back. We all are." With a nod, the director continued on his way.

Tim relaxed then frowned. He had to stop reacting every time someone mentioned the admiral. It was going to come up no matter how much he wanted to avoid the topic. He'd meant it when he told Penny he was done as far as his dad was concerned, but it would take time. He sighed and gave himself a mental shake. His family was here and they had his back. Now, it was time to get back to work. He slowly smiled.

He was home.

**THE END**

A/N: I thought long and hard how I wanted to end this and decided I wanted to keep it simple so didn't include yet another team reunion figuring that had already happened and didn't want to repeat it. I also wanted to keep the possibility of future show downs with McGee and his father and decided that for now, Tim was not going to forgive and forget. But can he really cut his dad out completely for good? Hmm. That remains to be seen!

Thank you all for sticking with me to the end. I love writing these and enjoy the reader comments which sometimes give me ideas for new directions to take the story that I hadn't considered. I appreciate all of my readers and reviewers and hope I'll see you again in the future!


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